#planning on post some sort of fic tomorrow......

[geddy-leesbian]

it's my birthday so I'm posting some OC self indulgence

[poppadom0912]

The best babysitters

Warnings: Mentions of absent father but all fluff

Summary: Work prevents you from going home one night, thankfully you’ve got the best backup in Chicago.

A/N: This is being posted later than I planned. My mum was in hospital and it gave me a scare but she's all recovered now so here this is. This is in celebration of 1k, a few more will follow as my workload has decreased significantly.

This fic exists in the same world as my other fic ‘older sister’ but can also be read as a stand alone.

You were tired.

Work was beyond busy today and your clients were being unnecessarily stressful. All you wanted now was to go home, relieve your babysitter of her duties and enjoy the night in with your daughter.

It seemed that the universe had some sort of vendetta against you though because just as you were putting the finishing signatures on the last few papers, an intern, a woman you saw earlier at reception, came running into your office slightly out of breath.

You wanted to scream.

Letting the poor intern talk, you smiled at her stiffly, dismissing her after saying you’d make your way. There was no way you could ask your babysitter to stay late for God knows how much longer, you could remember her telling you she has a lecture tomorrow morning.

Getting up from your desk, you sighed, screwing your eyes closed when you caught the time on your phone. Your sigh in defeat could probably be heard all across Chicago.

Walking out your office, the sound of your heels filled out the empty space, majority of the firm had gone home, only a few stragglers staying behind to close up on any loose ends.

Turning your phone on, you ignored the several notifications screaming for your attention and went straight to your contacts.

Your phone only rang twice before the person on the receiving end picked up.

“Hey Will, can you do me the biggest favour please… You’re a life saviour, thanks, I owe you one.”

Hanging up the phone, you stared ahead through the windows at the bustling waiting room, raised angry voices overlapping and bleeding though the walls.

You could already feel your headache intensifying.

*****

Using his spare key, Will entered your house. Shuffling inside, he took off his jacket and shoes as usual.

Hearing the front door open, little pattering feet were immediately heard running across the house. Will smiled at the sound that he didn’t hear often due to all of your demanding jobs.

“Mama! Mama oh-“

The immense joy on Harper’s face disappeared as the nearly two-year-old rounded the corner on her little chubby legs, expecting to see her beloved mother who she missed all day only to suddenly be met with her redheaded uncle.

“Well hello to you too miss Harper.” Will smiled down at his niece nonetheless, crouching down to scoop her into his arms to which she didn’t argue and instead welcomed.

As soon as she was safe in his arms, the toothiest, giddiest smile broke out on her chubby face that was so scarily identical to yours that it could only be explained by witchcraft.

Harper giggled, such a sound making Will forget about all the horrors that stained his day from the emergency department.

“Hi!” She exclaimed, her smile remained upright and never faltered. “Hi!”

And soon after, she pressed her open mouth onto his stubbly cheek, her attempt of a kiss. Despite struggling with the tough task and all the slobber that remained on his cheek, Will’s reaction was instant and wouldn’t change for the world.

“Oh, thank you so much Harper! Uncle Will missed you tons. Look at how big you’ve grown!”

But, before Will could have all his focus solely on his adorable niece, the sound of the front door unlocking diverted his attention.

Lo and behold, Jay casually strolled in as though this was another random Tuesday.

Oh, that son of a b-

Harper’s scream that followed definitely burst Will’s eardrums.

Will winced, tipping his head away to protect his ears from any further damage before turning to glare at his brother who was taking his jacket off.

"What are you-"

"You said we'd meet at Molly's for a drink but you weren't there." Jay cut Will off, a smile on his face as he looked at Harper and spoke without looking in Will's direction. "Natalie told me you were here."

"Jay Jay's jealous Harper." Will said, his tone all factual and matter-of-fact as he looked at the toddler in his arms. "He didn't want to miss out."

Jay didn't even try to look offended or hurt by Will's remark because deep down, it was somewhat true because how could Jay let Will have all the fun by himself?

"Stop hogging her you buffoon and let me hold her." Jay told Will, not waiting for a reply as he moved forward and took Harper into his arms, the girl didn't protest nor did she willingly lean forward.

"What- Uh, I've literally been here for five minutes Jay."

"Am I your favourite uncle? I knew it!"

*****

Following Jay’s sudden and unprompted arrival, Will dismissed your babysitter, paying her what you usually did and a little more as compensation for staying so late.

Once she had left, there wasn’t much left around the house for them to do besides turning the dishwasher on and making Harper’s nightly milks, but it wasn’t her bedtime just yet and maybe if time permitted it, Harper could stay up a little beyond her usual bedtime.

Consider it a small treat for this special circumstance without her mother implementing her strict nighttime routine.

While Will was sorting away the finals bits in the kitchen, Jay easily made himself comfortable in the living room while Harper continued to babble nonsensically, a few discernible words welcomed themselves into the mix. Jay allowed himself to take a second to relish in the moment, trying to prevent himself from having an existential crisis as he realised he was both emotional but also proud of how much she was growing.

“Dada, look look! S’ Dada!”

Moment ruined, Jay’s smile instantly fell.

Jay followed the direction of Harper’s index finger to the tv, his face hardening at the sight of the man who failed his fiancée and his baby who just turned one.

Harper's 'dad' was a television reporter and it had totally slipped his mind that this was the channel he worked for. Seeing his stupid face yap away about the news made his blood boil.

Jay changed the channel without a second thought.

Your ex fiancé had suddenly decided to leave on Harper’s first birthday, not even having the decency to at least show up at her birthday party.

A year later, and Harper still remembered the man whose name was her first word.

It devastated you still to this day what he had done and Harper’s random interjections of ‘dada’ only made the wound deeper.

“Dada isn’t here harper.” Jay said, tone as soft as it could be as he tried to explain it without her crying.

“It’s just uncle Jay and Will, and mama will be home soon.” Jay continued, holding the toddler in his lap so there was no chance of her running away crying.

Luckily, Harper was a mummy’s girl through and through, so despite the large absence of her father, simply mentioning ‘mama’ or anything akin to that made her entire face light up in a way that no one else could.

“Okay Halstead’s, listen up!” Will said as he entered the living room, phone in one and a towel in the other.

“Y/N’s saying it’s mostly likely going to be another two hours minimum so we’re most likely going to have to stay over.” Will told Jay specifically before looking down at Harper.

“You wanna get into your PJ’s Harps? Jay Jay can make you some milk.”

And despite her highly energised state, Harper would never turn down the enticing combination of her pyjamas and warm milk.

Crawling out of Jay’s lap, Harper moved towards Will who in turn of carrying her gave Jay the towel he was holding. And as much as Jay wanted to fight his brother, he knew Will had more experience with kids - i.e. Owen - and so he could gladly change her diaper.

With Will and Harper standing over him, brown eyes wide, glinting with a hidden intent Jay had become familiar with since childhood. It really wasn’t fair that you and Will both had your father’s eyes which Harper just had to inherit. Jay found himself useless and always surrendering to those goddamn eyes, even as the youngest sibling.

Whenever Jay remembered his childhood, it never made sense why the two older siblings never folded as easily when he looked up at them with the biggest, most imploring eyes. Even now, three decades later, and not a single thing had changed.

“Okay, okay! Just stop looking at me like that.” As soon as Jay spoke, the two rejoiced, their happiness still discernible even as they made their way upstairs.

“Let’s get this party started then.”

*****

And so party they did.

Well at least according to Harper’s standards.

The night started off with warm drinks - Harper with her milk while Will and Jay spoiled themselves to the expensive coffee beans that you easily could afford but neither your brothers indulged in unless under your roof.

Following this, Harper had a short but very fun time running around with sudden newfound energy, causing as much havoc as humanly possible for anyone her size.

It was safe to say that she tired herself quite quickly.

As Jay opened himself and Will a beer, he walked back into the living room, his eyes landing on his older brother and niece, the younger scrunched up into a little ball on Will's chest. Her face completely relaxed and arms wrapped around his torso as she snored quietly.

"Now this, after today, is my kinda party."

"Amen." Will agreed, tapping his bottle with Jay's as a silent 'cheers'.

Jay settled besides his brother, both of them staring forward at the muted movie Harper randomly chose, the first she watched that didn't have any princess affiliations.

"Gosh, it feels like years since we last babysat her." Will said, a sombre but nostalgic tone lacing his words.

"It does." Jay hummed as he swallowed his beer. "We're all so busy with work we can hardly make time for each other."

Will scoffed. "I see you almost everyday, strolling casually into the ED like you own the freaking place. Who are you kidding?"

Jay rolled his eyes but agreed nonetheless.

"Yeah, we need to visit more often. Make more effort and take out the time."

The silence that followed was filled by Harpers little snores and the occasional sound of a siren blaring past in the distance.

"I'm so tired I could knock out right here on the floor."

"Don't be such a doofus, go put her down in her bed."

"Aye aye captain."

*****

When you finally returned home three hours later, tired beyond belief. You were so close to dropping to the floor as soon as you locked the door but as you ventured into the house, you were met with the most heart warming sight.

On the floor in the living room remained your two younger brothers and your daughter. Harper was still scrunched up in a ball on Will's chest, her hand clutching his shirt while said man had his face leaning forward into her hair, his breaths causing Harper's curl to move occasionally. Jay sat besides them, hands crossed slightly on his lap and his head tipped backwards, resting on the sofa.

Even as your eyes burned with the need for sleep, you took a few pictures of the scene before you, your smile not going till your head met your pillow.

If Jay and Will woke up with sore necks in the morning, there was a very seasoned doctor in the house for a reason.

[streetlightyeri]

false god ; boone

“i know heaven’s a thing, i go there when you touch me.”

[aka, boone is good at using a camera for more than just storm chasing]

w.c: 3444

warnings: 18+ MDNI. smut (oral, piv, breath play? in the lightest sense of the word, bandana used as gag).

notes: no beta, not even proofread lol i just needed to post this, i'll come back and edit at a later time. this is a piece from my wip about boone for my twisters/zach bryan song fic series (scott's is in progress as well a part two for "oklahoma smokeshow" for tyler). this was supposed to be fluff, slice of life moment, idk what happened <3 and as always, the fmc has a name but no descriptors bc i cannot personally write in 2nd person

-

She surprised him while they were on a chase. She was going to be in the state for no more than a few hours - when he headed out tomorrow she would be too. But she was able to get the information of where the crew was staying from Dani with the promise she would keep her mouth shut about it. Dani must’ve talked Tyler into letting them crash at a nicer place for the night because instead of a motel that Rowan was sure would give her hives, she pulled up to a very respectable 3 star chain hotel. She made a mental note to buy that girl whatever her heart desired.

Rowan pulled her hood closer around her neck and her hat farther down onto her head. She locked her vehicle behind her, keeping her head down as she walked to the side entrance Dani propped open for her. Once she made it in, she kicked the rock out the door jam and made her way to the elevator.

Rowan tried to calm her nerves as the elevator rose to the 4th floor. Her heartbeat picked up once the doors opened. She followed the signs to room 435. It was a corner room. Now Rowan was certain Dani had roped everyone into the plan; otherwise, a room like this would’ve been a coin toss or a game of pulling straws to see who got it. Her face burned at the thought.

But nevertheless, she knocked on the door. Boone’s voice came from the other side. “Yeah?” He was expecting someone from the team to respond, but heard nothing. He called out again. Rowan knocked in response.

She heard shuffling before the sound of the lock clicking. When the door swung open, she looked up, met with the sight of her boyfriend dressed in the same clothes he must’ve been wearing that day: jeans, a wifebeater, and a bandana tied around his neck. She could see his camo button down discarded on the end of the bed and his hat on the nightstand. A smile grew across her face as the moment started to click for him. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the room, double checking no one was lurking in the hallway before shutting the door. He turned the lock again and also flipped the deadbolt now that she was here.

When he turned back to her, he nearly tackled her onto the floor, throwing her hat to some corner of the room. But he managed to get his bearings before they lost their balance. His lips found hers; she could feel his smile as he kissed her. He walked them to the bed, keeping his hand behind her head to absorb the impact as her knees bent and her back hit the mattress.

He paused to pull back and look at her again, making sure she was real. “Hi, baby.”

She let out a giggle. “Hi, Boone.”

He leaned down and kissed her again, but stopped when her hand came up and pushed his shoulder back slightly. He knit his brows when she patted the bed next to herself but complied. She sat up to be eye level with him. He couldn’t believe she was here; his hands found her hips, sliding up her sweatshirt to rub circles on her soft skin. She wasn’t any better; she was trying to find her words but the way he was looking at her with his big doe eyes, like she was the best thing he’d ever seen, was making her brain short circuit. A haste kiss from him jump started her again.

“I have a . . . gift, of sorts, for you.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Is you being here not it?”

Rowan felt her cheeks heating up, her hands dropping from playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. She stood up and walked to her duffle bag she discarded blindly when he tackled her. She reached in and brought out the small box she wrapped in a haste and walked back over to him, leveling him with a serious gaze. “No one can know about this. Absolutely no one.”

“What is it, baby?”

“Promise me you will never show anyone this. Ever. No matter what.”

“I promise.”

She sat back down and handed him the box. He made quick work with the paper, his jaw dropping when he saw the picture on the side of the box: a camcorder. Nothing fancy, absolutely no bells and whistles. But Boone always had a thing for cameras. He’d started messing around with them back when he was enrolled in community college, fresh out of high school, still trying to figure out what the hell he wanted to do with his life. There was nothing more exciting to him than getting the perfect shot.

“You know how hesitant I’ve been about, uh,” she cleared her throat, “filming. But I thought about it. With something like this, there’s no cloud it gets uploaded to, no internet required. Nothing anyone can hack. It’s not the best quality, but it was the best I could find that I was comfortable with.”

He dropped the box on the bed next to him and grabbed her head in his hands; they were so large his fingertips met at the back. “Rowan, baby, please tell me you know I am fine with never recording us? I don’t want you to feel pressured. I let go of that fantasy a while ago. If you’re not comfortable with it, then it isn’t hot anymore.”

She nodded through his grip. “I know.”

He kissed her again, letting go of her with a whoop of excitement before he opened the tape on the box with his pocket knife. He pulled out the recorder and inserted the SD card, flipping open the screen, taking a sweep of the room. He played around with the settings, adjusting it for the room’s lighting. He was so confident in his knowledge of the camera. In seconds he got it looking more like 720p instead of the 480p she saw when using it in the store.

He flipped the screen so he could see himself as he recorded. He introduced himself to his imaginary audience while Rowan rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his torso. He used his free hand to run a hand down her hair. He lowered the camera to capture her face for a second. “And this is my beautiful girlfriend.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “She is the reason I have this camera. I think she’s embarrassed, but don’t worry, I’ll get her used to showing her face.”

She pulled back and hit his shoulder with a laugh while he winked at the camera. He flipped the screen and turned to film her, catching the perfect angle where the setting sun cut through the curtains to leave a beam running across her face. “She loves me so much she surprised me. Can’t believe she kept this a secret.”

“I was so close to spilling! You kept texting me about how much you missed me! And I had to lie that I wasn’t in Oklahoma. I even had Dani working with me to cover it up. I would send photos from the view outside my apartment that I’d been saving up for her to show you. I was scared you’d get suspicious when I kept refusing to FaceTime.”

He laughed from behind the camera. “You are a terrible liar.”

She faked a gasp, “Take that back!”

He smirked, “I think I can think of a way to make it up to you.”

She pulled her legs to her chest and looked straight at the lens of the camera, “Well then, why don’t you show me?”

He deposited the camera on the nightstand, throwing his hat elsewhere to make sure he had enough space to get the entire bed in the frame. One he was certain they’d be visible, he tore his shirt off and made quick work of hers. He lifted her bridal style to put her correctly on the bed. He untied his bandana and tied it around her neck; he liked seeing her wear it. He hovered over her on his arms, his hair and gold chain dangling into her face. She felt her face and chest flush. No matter how many times they found themselves like this, Rowan always felt like Boone was admiring her like a precious stone.

He shifted his weight and used his right hand to run his thumb over her red cheek. “God you’re so beautiful, baby.”

He undid her bra and he moved to sit on his haunches, admiring her from above. Her chest rose and fell as his brown eyes raked over her entire frame, leaving her skin burning in their wake. His calloused hands ghosted over her waist so lightly, her body jerked from the tickling sensation. His two index fingers ran under the waistband of her jean shorts; his eyes flickered up to her for permission. She kept her eyes stilled on him as she nodded. His eyes flickered over to the camera; he could see her side angle perfectly, surrounded by plush sheets while he hung over her.

“Is the camera okay?”

She nodded again, not looking at it.

“Need words, baby.”

She opened her mouth but hesitated. In seconds, he had the camera in his hand, about to snap the screen shut and stop the recording. Her hand reached up and wrapped around his wrist. “It’s okay, Boone.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re tense. We’re not doing it if you’re not 100% with it.”

She tightened her grip on his wrist when he tried to turn it off again. “I am. I promise. If you’re okay, I am. I’ll get used to it.”

He hesitated. He didn’t want her doing this for him.

“If I wasn’t comfortable with it, I wouldn’t have bought the camera.”

“You’re allowed to change your mind, no matter who bought the camera.”

She moved to intertwine her fingers with his, bringing his knuckles down to kiss them. “I’ll tell you if I change my mind.”

He pursed his lips, “Promise?”

She smiled up at him, “Promise.”

She helped him set up his perfect angle again before he rided her of her shorts and underwear. His hands ran up and down her side, taking count of every inch of skin. He rememorized every mole and freckle. His lips found hers again, making his way slowly down her neck, shoulder, the valley of her breasts while his finger twisted at her nipples. She felt him smirk against her skin when she gasped, hands reaching out to grip the sheets. He left bites on the smooth skin of her stomach, a place he was often drawn to. A place he could mark that no one would know.

When he made it between her thighs, he groaned. “There’s my girl.”

Rowan bit her bottom lip to stifle the sound that brought out of her.

Boone’s hands tightened on her hips; she could feel each finger digging into her skin. He pressed sloppy, wet kisses to the inside of her thighs. Her toes curled in anticipation, legs locking to try and prevent them from tightening around his head. Not that he would’ve cared. He had spent weeks warming her up to the idea of sitting on his face so he could finally feast like he wanted. She would never forget the way he locked his muscular arms around her thighs to keep her core connected with his mouth while he ate her out like his life depended on it, like he wasn’t destroying her for any other man ever. 

When he finally connected his mouth to her cunt, he moaned into her, making a shiver run up her entire body as her hands moved to grip his hair. Her fingers twisted in his locks, making him let out another satisfied noise. His tongue reached out to lap at her core, taking in the sweet release and relishing in the taste. One hand moved to splay across her stomach, lightly opening and closing to keep her down and to scratch at her skin comfortingly; the other moved to leave bruises of his finger prints on her thighs before one finger, then two, then three pushed themselves into her. Her rapid breaths and whines filled the room as her hips jerked from the way he ate. While his fingers curled into the spot he knew made her see stars, his tongue circled her clit with unrelenting determination.

He glanced up at her, seeing her head thrown back with eyes screwed closed as he increased his pace. He knew he was doing good when he felt her body tensing up below him, her legs beginning to shake. She gave a hard tug on his hair when he pulled away and let out a stream of cold breath onto her clit before attaching his hot mouth back to it. She came with a cry of his name, tensing around him as her blood seemed to run through white hot fire. Her thighs clamped around his head, spurring him on to continue his feast as he rode her through her high. He managed to get his right hand free and bring it up to her mouth, tapping her lips which she opened without question. He shoved them in, so long he almost triggered her gag reflex. She instantly closed around them, sucking herself off of him while effectively silencing her from their neighbor’s ears. He used his thumb and pinky to grip her chin and turn her face to the camera. She whimpered when she saw how much of a mess she was, how much of a submissive puddle he turned her into without trying. The visual spurred her into another orgasm. When she finally came back to Earth, she let her legs go limp and released her boyfriend, much to his dismay.

He traced his lips back up to hers, pushing into her mouth. When he released their kiss, he left small pecks on her jaw, coming to her ear, “My favorite meal. Now my favorite show.”

She grabbed his jaw and brought him back to her lips where he lost himself for an unknown amount of time. He was achingly hard. Rowan ran her hand down his shoulders, past the scar on his ribs from when he got hit by a tree branch in the field, down his abs that he gained from always running from tornadoes, to run her hand over his length. She would never get used to it; he was the biggest she’d ever had, and he knew how to use it. He could bring her to tears without being fully seated in her. He had to coach her into taking deep breaths the first time they’d done it because she was so tense he couldn’t push in. Now, they knew the drill.

She pulled his belt off with one hand and discarded it somewhere in the room before popping his button. He discarded his pants and underwear off the bed, once again on his haunches, pumping himself in his right hand. Her hair was a messy halo around her, her skin shiny with sweat.

He lifted her legs to hang over his thighs, leaving her wide open for him to push into her without pain. His eyes flickered to the camera before coming back to hers; she nodded. He picked the camera up, and fixed the angle to where it was a clear shot of him entering her. With every inch he gave, her whimpers grew louder. “Bite down on the bandana for me sweetheart.”

She nodded blindly, biting down on the cloth that smelled exactly like him, like the cologne he wore that made her nearly stumble when she first met him. Her senses were clouded from anything else in the world. All that existed was him. The camera was an extension of him, like it always was.

When he was fully seated in, he gave a few long in and out thrusts, letting her adjust to his size before putting the recorder in its spot. When she gave him the nod that he was okay to move, he lifted one of her legs to rest on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to her ankle where she had a tattoo of a tornado, courtesy of Lilly and an empty bottle of Jack.

He gripped her hip with his free hand before he began to hammer into her. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. Her noises were one of his favorite things about sex with her, but he really did not need the neighbors knowing that he hadn’t even given her 30 minutes before they went at it; the bandana was not cutting it. He gathered up the material that was still hanging out her mouth and shoved it in. He gave a short “sorry” when he heard her gag but he wasn’t sure she heard it because he gave a very hard thrust at the same time that caused her eyes to roll backwards. He placed his hand over her mouth as well to keep her silent, her leg pressed against her chest.

Her hands dug crescents into his biceps and left long marks down his back. He had absolutely no complaints. If he could find a way to make the feel of him buried in her cunt permanent, he would. Boone grunted in her ear when she squeezed around him, “Be good, honey.” He felt her moan vibrate through his hand. 

She was getting close, he could feel it. She kept lifting her hips in a way to both escape the pleasure but also find new angles for him to hit in hopes it would be what set her off. He snaked his hand off her hip and used his rough thumb to circle her clit. In seconds, he sent her over the edge. She tensed so hard around him he couldn’t thrust her through it. Her tightness sent him over the edge, his face buried in her hair while he was groaning her name paired with a whimper of overstimulation. When he finally pulled out, he got the camera again to film the dripping of his spend out her cunt. He reached a hand out and smeared his cum across her cunt. She jerked and whimpered, the feeling too much so soon after he finished her again. 

He turned the camera to her face as he gave her his cum covered fingers to suck on. She had a sleepy, not-fully-on-Earth smile plastered on her face. She stared at the lens, at the extension of Boone, “Hi, baby.”

He held the camera out with one arm while he moved to connect their lips again.

The camera ran out of battery just as Boone was setting it up to look into the shower, right after he got a shot of Rowan on her knees with her tongue out, covered in his release, before she swallowed and showed her empty tongue to the camera.

He cursed when the screen turned black, an alert to change SD cards coming up. Rowan laughed and closed it after turning it off, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the shower. “You’ll just have to remember this round.”

-

Her hair left a damp spot on the pillow beneath him, but he didn’t mind. She was half asleep in the nook he made for her between his shoulder and arm, her eyes closed as she inhaled the scent of his soap and shampoo. If his arm was asleep under her, he said nothing. He had changed the sheets with the ones from the closet while she searched through his bag and her own to find something to wear. She ultimately decided on a pair of sleep shorts she brought and one of his plain t-shirts that hung oversized on her. She had a fist resting on his chest and had her leg across his waist; he lightly scratched at it, a comforting motion to help lure her to sleep.

He adjusted his head to leave a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, Rowan.”

She was too tired to make any words, so she gave him a hum that both acknowledged his words and returned the sentiment. She kissed the nearest part of him she could before settling back into her cocoon. He pulled the blankets up closer to her chin.

[autumnscribbles]

surprise | c.b

colby brock x reader

summary: colby plans a surprise party for y/n while she thinks he’s working

idea from my bestie @wildestwords 🫶🏻

a/n: not my best work but I was in a writing mood so I just wanted to post a cute little fic :) I hope you like!

“Do you have to go?” you whined, reaching across the bed for Colby.

“Unfortunately,” he groaned, kissing your forehead one last time before standing up.

“But it’s my birthdaaaaay,” you tease, laughing at yourself. You knew Colby had to work tonight, and he had a super important video to film tonight.

Thankfully, as you got older, you didn’t care for your birthday much anyway. You were sort of looking forward to ordering take out, hanging out in your sweats and watching movies all day.

“We’ll celebrate tomorrow, I promise,” he grinned, ruffling your hair lovingly before leaving the room to finish getting ready.

You got out of bed yourself, smoothing out your hair in the mirror. One year older. You felt good, grateful to be where you were today.

You saw Colby out the door, smiling as you watched him drive off. Now, it was time to relax.

*

“Okay guys,” Colby said as he walked into the door of the party location. “She didn’t suspect anything, she thinks we’re doing haunted house stuff.”

“Perrrrfect,” Sam smirked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“So we have everyone coming at 7, I’m gonna call y/n a bit after that and act like something went wrong and we need her help,” Colby explained. “Then we’ll surprise her when she walks in.”

“Decoration time?” Sam asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Decoration time,” Colby confirmed with a nod of his head.

*

You held your chop sticks and your Chinese takeout box, legs crossed on the couch. The throw blanket was wrapped over your shoulders and you ate happily as you watched some romcom you stumbled across on Netflix.

You heard your phone ringing in the other room, and jumped up to go catch it in time. You forgot you left it on the kitchen counter. You frowned slightly when you saw it was Colby. You almost never heard from him when he was working.

“Hey,” you answered, leaning against the counter.

“Hey babe,” you heard Colby breathing heavily. “I don’t want to worry you but I need you to come here.”

“What?” you asked. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“We need help,” he replied. “Can you please come?”

“Of course, Colby,” you said, slightly panicked as you rushed to clean up all your stuff while still on the phone. “Just send me the address, I’m on my way.”

“I love you,” Colby said gently.

“I love you too, baby, I’m coming,” you told him.

He hung up, and you put your take out in the fridge, turned off the tv, and kicked off your slippers. You pulled on a jacket and your shoes and grabbed your car keys as you rushed out the door.

The March air caught your breath as you stepped outside, the bite of the night air unexpected. You rubbed your hands together for warmth once you sat in the car. Only for a second, before pulling out of the driveway.

You followed the GPS, happy when you realized it was only 15 minutes away. This was one time you were especially grateful Sam and Colby picked somewhere nearby. Usually, you were too far away to be of any help.

When you pulled up to the house, you noticed a red light glowing from inside the house. It immediately gave you the creeps, even though you knew it was definitely done on purpose for the video.

You jumped out of the car, not even locking it as you jogged to the door and threw it open. You saw Colby lying on the ground, Sam crouched beside him.

“Colby!” you exclaimed, running over to him and crouching next to Sam. You grabbed his hand in yours. “What happened?”

“I-I fell,” Colby groaned, wincing in pain. “Can you go grab me my sweater?”

“Of course!” you exclaimed, standing up to go grab his sweater.

It was the perfect distraction for Colby to get up off the floor, and signal the others.

“Surprise!!!” you heard from a roomful of voices, making you scream before laughing.

“Oh my god!!!” you screamed, covering your face.

You saw all of your friends, even some from your hometown, all here to celebrate you. You cursed yourself for not dressing better on your special day, but you were too happy to care.

You turned back around, seeing Colby standing there with a massive grin on his beautiful face.

“You did this for me?” you asked, tears forming in your eyes.

“I did,” he nodded. “Did you really think I’d make you celebrate your birthday alone?”

You ran over to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. You didn’t know how you got so lucky.

“I assume you were the true brains of the operation?” you asked, as you turned to Sam, pulling him into your arms too.

“I’d like to think so,” he shrugged. “The decorations were all mine.”

You smiled as you saw the big balloons, flowers, and a big poster full of pictures of you and all the people you loved.

You went around hugging all your friends, still not believing that they were here.

You walked up to your childhood best friend, smothering her in the tightest hug imaginable. She hugged you back just as tight.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you said into her shoulder, your smile hurting your cheeks because it was so wide.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she told you, putting her hands on either side of your face. “You really have a keeper on your hands.”

“I do, don’t I?” you asked, looking back to Colby, who to your surprise, was already looking at you.

“You have to marry him,” she teased you, pushing your shoulder playfully. “Otherwise you’re stupid.”

“That’s the plan,” you winked, wrapping your arm around her shoulders.

“What even is this place?” you laughed as you turned back to Colby. “Is it actually haunted?”

“No,” he laughed. “It’s just someone’s house they had for rent.”

“Only you,” you laughed. “It’s nice though.”

Your best friend left to the kitchen then promptly walked out with a cake in her hands, singing to you. Everyone else joined in and you couldn’t help but blush before blowing out the candles.

You couldn’t think of a wish, because everything you wanted was already right there in front of you.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Might've Walked Slower - Floyd

Author Notes: So, I was actually planning on posting a different fic today, but then the Stitch even came out today so I decided Floyd would get a fic posted today instead. I've actually had this written for a little bit, but it's been undergoing polishing and gathering dust in my google docs. I had fun writing and working on this one, though I have to admit it really doesn't have any specific source of inspiration beyond NRC having an old building and me wondering if there were secret passageways. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ sfw/ fluff/ flirtation

Word count: 1685

It started the same way a great many things at NRC seemed to start. With a task from Crowley.

To be fair, this task wasn’t particularly difficult or even that annoying. It was just returning some books to the school library for him.

The only trouble came in the form of a bored Floyd Leech, who was currently lurking in the library for unknown reasons. Luckily, Floyd had thus far opted to sit and boredly watch as you shelved books once he’d discovered your presence didn’t mean anything exciting.

But nothing could stay simple in NRC, and today served as still more evidence for that fact.

You’d simply put one hand down on a strangely empty shelf to support yourself while you stretched upwards to place a book on a still higher shelf. And that was when everything went horribly wrong.

You leaned forward ever so slightly more, frowning as you stretched just a little bit more, and all at once the shelf let out a horrible groaning sound and gave way. Your eyes widened, and you realized exactly what was going to happen.

You plummeted forward with a shriek that had Floyd jerking upright from his previously relaxed position of stretching his upper body across the top of a table, “Shrimpy?!”

His voice sounded equal parts startled and concerned, but you paid him little mind as you scrambled, catching yourself against a web-coated wall as you tumbled through where the bookshelf had just been. Your shoulder slamming hard against the cold stone in a way that promised you would have some impressive bruises tomorrow morning.

You groaned slightly as you pushed yourself back, your uninjured arm wrapping around your body so that you could press a hand to your now-throbbing shoulder. But all thoughts of how much that was going to hurt tomorrow fled as you stared at the gaping hole in the wall that was now in front of you.

You stared in quiet horror at the hole before your brain kicked into gear, noting that the edges of the opening were smooth and that this area had obviously been built this way to let the bookshelf swing open like a demented door to reveal the tunnel lined with sconces that hung on the filthy walls.

Though you’d initially thought you’d somehow caused the entire bookcase to topple, that was obviously not the case. Instead, it looked like you’d managed to somehow trigger a mechanism that had opened some sort of hidden door to a passageway that you were now standing in the entrance of.

“Shrimpy, are you…” Floyd trailed off from where he’d appeared behind you as he beheld the darkened path you’d uncovered.

Both of you stood in silence, staring down the stone tunnel whose walls bore unlit sconces before giving way into a deep darkness. You slowly stood as you continued to stare into the darkness from next to Floyd. Wondering what, exactly, this passage was and where it led.

“What have you found this time, Shrimpy?” Floyd’s amused voice snapped you out of your silent gaping, and you shot him a look only to find him staring into the darkness with sparkling eyes that spoke of an emotion that one should always be wary of if it were coming from Floyd. 

Excitement.

With a simple gesture that was not unlike snapping his fingers, magic shot out from where the young man stood, and flames began to flicker in the sconces as he stepped past you into the passageway. Before you could say anything, he’d already reached back and wrapped one hand around your wrist with a smooth rolling motion of his long fingers. 

“Floyd, wai-” You were cut off by him giving you a slight tug and pulling you into the tunnel-like space with him. He was already grinning in a way that told you that you were probably going to be stuck going with him no matter what you said.

“Come on~ it’ll be fun,” His eyes were alight, and the yellow one had a slight glow to it that reminded you of the deep-sea fish that used lights to tempt prey in closer. 

And, in some ways, it was tempting to check out the tunnel-like passage you’d discovered. After all, just finding it brought to light numerous questions. 

Were there more? What was it for? And how old was NRC anyway if it had hidden passageways like this?

You hesitated though, glancing back towards the library as your freehand fell away from your shoulder before Floyd’s sing-songy voice came from far closer than it had been before, telling you he’d stepped closer to you, “Don’t you wanna know where it leads~?”

You looked back towards him, finding that he had indeed stepped closer and was now looking at you, still holding onto your wrist and smiling in a way that told you he knew he was going to win. Because, unfortunately, you were curious about this hidden passage that you’d discovered.

“Just for a little while. I’m not spending all day and night exploring some creepy path with you,” Your tone was firm, but still drew a giggle from the tall young man who now turned to lead you down the path. His hand sliding down until your hands were interlocked.

“It's not creepy, just a little dark. Kind of like home,” You all but snorted at his utterly relaxed demeanor. Of course he wouldn’t find previously secret, web-encrusted tunnels lit only by widely spaced sconces creepy.

But then there was no telling what he was used to seeing from his time living under the sea. Creepy might be an everyday commodity for him. And he had said it was sort of like his home….

When you didn’t actually respond as you glanced around at your surroundings, he twisted, looking back at you with an amused, almost mocking grin, “Aw, don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark, Shrimpy~”

“Hardly, I just tend to be wary of places that strike me as fishy,” If anything, your words seemed to delight him further as he tugged you up closer to him so that you were walking side by side as he leaned towards you.

“Don’t worry. I’m way more fishy than anything that’ll be in here,” He winked in a way that had you rolling your eyes, but not pulling away from him even as he giggled. Because, for better or worse, having Floyd with you while exploring some dark hole in a magical school was far better than being alone.

After all, he could probably take on anything you found.

Floyd stopped, tugging you to a stop by simply not letting you pull him with you as you came to the edge of the set of stairs. 

Glancing back, you noticed him tilting his head with a thoughtful expression before he met your gaze and smiled teasingly once more, “Reckon it goes to the dungeon?”

You couldn’t stop the snort that came from your throat as you shook your head, “Why would a school have a dungeon?”

He shrugged, staring down the stone steps and soon guiding you down with him as he kept lighting sconces as you approached them, and amusingly, it made you wonder if he really was worried that you were afraid of the dark, “Don’t know, maybe for bad kiddies?”

“Shouldn’t most of the school, including you, be down here then?” Your wry words had him snickering even as you pondered where the staircase led. 

You tilted your head as you carefully followed Floyd down the stone staircase, “Has this place always been a school?”

Floyd gave you a sideways glance before shrugging in a perfectly nonchalant manner, “Don’t know. You’d have to ask one of the history buffs about that.”

Your mind briefly flickered to Malleus’s analysis of the gargoyles on every building on the campus before you dismissed the thought with a shrug, “Either way, I hope this staircase ends with a door out of here.”

“Aw, you aren’t enjoying our date?” You grinned despite yourself at Floyd’s potentially faux pout.

“I didn’t realize this was a date?” You glanced up, still smiling, at Floyd in time to watch as he briefly went wide-eyed before recovering with record timing.

“You think I just casually take all cuties down some potentially forbidden tunnel?” Floyd’s grin was perfectly shameless, but it had laughter bubbling out of you as you shook your head at his antics.

And a large part of you couldn’t believe that you were slowly slipping into the all-too-obvious trap of flirting with Floyd. But here you were, and in no way were you uncomfortable.

In fact, despite yourself and the environment, you were perfectly enjoying your little jaunt through this web-encrusted passage. And you had a sneaking suspicion that the sole reason you were having fun was the young man next to you.

Looking ahead, you could indeed see a door at the foot of the stairs, no doubt the exit to the lengthy tunnel, “How about next time you tell me we’re on a date before whisking me off down some dark tunnel? I might’ve walked slower.”

You could’ve sworn his eyes were sparkling as he grinned at both you and your words before he turned to look at the door, “Well, let’s see where our secret path leads.”

With that, he pushed open the door, scaring the ghosts on the other sides and letting the scent of cooking food spill into the passageway. Your new location could be in only one place. The kitchen.

Floyd was laughing as the two of you entered the hot room filled with now flustered spirits, but before he let go of your hand, he tugged you closer to him and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Next time you go exploring, make sure to tell me.”

You looked up to see him grinning at you, utterly delighted by the happenings of the day and a long way off from the bored Floyd of earlier as he winked at you, “I’ve got to hold you to walking slower on our next date.”

[jamdoughnutmagician]

From Me to You.

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary:Eddie finds a love letter pushed through his locker, and he’s determined to find out who his secret admirer is.

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of, just tooth-rotting Valentine’s day fluff! Slight use of "y/n" sorry I couldn't escape it!!

Word Count:1,867

Authour’s Note:My life is so devoid of any kind of romance, so I though what better way to resolve that than to write some cutesy Valentine’s Day fic with everyone’s favourite metal-head? Maybe I'm posting this a little early, but I'm pretty pleased with how this turned out (since I suck at writing fluff) and I wanted to share it!

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Eddie, oh no, that couldn’t be further from the truth. However, having to admit to your crush on your best friend? Well that was a whole other story.

So, your big plan was to leave little secret admirer notes in Eddie’s locker in the week leading up to Valentine’s day on Friday. It was an easy way to confess your love to him, without the sting of rejection coming to bite you in the ass.

The Monday after your last class you waved Eddie goodbye as he made his way to the drama room where the Hellfire club would be meeting for their latest campaign. Although you didn't share his love of Dungeons and Dragons, you were still as close as friends could be, only you didn't want to be just his friend.

Waiting for him to disappear out of sight, you look around to check the coast is clear before you slip the hand-written note into his locker. Pushing the folded up piece of paper through the vented slats in his locker, you make your way out of the school. 

All you have to do now is just have to wait until tomorrow to find out if your little secret mission was successful.

_______

Eddie strolled into school that Tuesday morning, opening up his locker to put away his things, but as he did so, a small folded up piece of paper fell to the floor. Piquing his curiosity, he bent down to pick up the paper. Unfolding it carefully his eyes scanned over the nice hand-written message inside.

Your smile is my favourite thing and it brightens my day 

He glances at the swirling joined up writing and how the little hearts dot the I’s and he finds his face warming with a blush.

“What’ve you got there then, Ed?”  Gareth asks noisily, causing the rest of the members of Corroded Coffin to turn their heads to their lead guitarist.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Eddie says defensively as he stuffed the note in his pocket.

Holding his hands up in surrender, Gareth dropped the subject and they guys went about the rest of their school day.

_______

The next day, Eddie goes to open his locker and surprisingly another note falls at his feet. 

Quickly he bends to pick it up before anyone notices that he’s received another note. Unfolding the paper he reads the message.

You give me butterflies

He reasons that it must be the same person that it was from yesterday, because the handwriting is exactly the same and the I’s are still dotted adorably with the same little hearts.

As quick as his hopes get up at the thought of someone writing him little love notes,his thoughts are pulled in the direction that this must be some sort of prank. It had to be, right? Why else would anyone leave the school’s ‘freak’ sweet notes like this if not for some kind of twisted joke. 

Jason Carver and his gang probably thought the idea that someone might have a crush on Eddie, laughable. Yeah, he thinks to himself, that sounds more plausible.

Speak of the devil.

Jason and his crew make their way past him laughing loudly and obnoxiously. Right, that's it. 

Eddie stormed up to Jason, poking an accusing finger in his face.

“I bet you think this is really funny, don’t you Carver?” 

“What do you want, freak?” Jason barks out.

“You, leaving those little notes in my locker.” Eddie jabs.

Eddie looks at Jason for a moment, a look of genuine confusion gracing the features of the basketball player, his brows knitted together, before he huffs out an incredulous laugh.

“In your dreams, Munson” Jason laughs in his face as he pushes past Eddie. 

Okay…So maybe this wasn’t a joke. Well who was sending Eddie anonymous love letters?

_______

I want to hold your hands and kiss your face

Another day, another note. Eddie was still none the wiser as to who exactly was putting these love letters in his locker. Right, he thought to himself, he was going to need some help if he had any chance of finding out who this secret admirer of his was. 

Strolling through the doors of Family video, Eddie had decided to recruit the help of the only person he could think that would actually be of any help to him. Even if it did mean that he would have to show all the notes he’d received with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

“Wait, so let me get this straight. You’ve been getting anonymous love letters put in your locker?” Steve asks

“Well..yeah?” Eddie answers.

“...And you’re absolutely sure you have no idea who this is?” Steve presses.

“Well at one point I thought Carver was doing it, you know, for a joke..but I confronted him about it yesterday and that turned out about as well as you can imagine” Eddie explains

“Do you have some that you want it to be?” Steve quizzes, as he watches the metal-head’s expression change instantly, flushing scarlet rising from his chest to his cheeks and the tips of his nose. “Aha!” -Steve exclaims, jabbing his finger towards Eddie- “So you are thinking of someone then?”

Luckily, Eddie was saved from the embarrassment of admitting to his crush on one of his best friends by Robin interrupting his and Steve’s conversation.

“What are you two dorks gabbing about over there?” She shouts making her way from the back of Family video where she was rearranging a stack of horror films.

“Munson here has got himself a secret admirer.” Steve says, cocking his thumb towards Eddie. “Said he’s been getting these little love notes slipped in his locker” Steve continues with his teasing.

“Oooh!! Let me see ‘em!!” Robin squeals excitedly.

Scattering the piece of paper out onto the countertops, the boys watch as Robin reads through each of the messages. Her eyes scan over the words, and her eyebrows draw together, and her expression one of surprise.

“You alright over there, Rob? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, which considering what we’ve been through, is the last thing that should have you looking like that.” Steve joked.

“Shut up, Dingus.” Robin says, shushing Steve holding her pointer finger up at him. “Eddie, I think I might know who your secret admirer is.” 

The two boys look at Robin with wide eyes and bated breath.

Robin turns her back and hot-foots it to the back room of Family video.

“I thought you were going to tell us who it is?” Eddie shouts after his friend.

“Hold your horses will 'ya, Munson?!” she shouts back over her shoulder.

Robin returns with a wide grin gracing her freckled features as she slams down a sheet of A4 lined paper on the counter top.

“What the hell’s this?” Steve said, looking even more confused than before.

“These are the notes that I borrowed from y/n, for Kominski’s class yesterday. Now I don’t know about you guys, but I’d say that that swirly handwriting looks very familiar to me.” Robin says proudly, like she’s decoded the most cryptic of secret messages.

Eddie and Steve lean in closer to compare the handwriting in the love letters, to the handwriting in the classroom notes. 

 “I mean, apart from the little hearts that are dotting the I’s, I would say that is the exact same handwriting” Robin points out.

“So, y/n, huh?” Steve says, letting the thought hang in the air.

If Eddie was blushing before, his whole face must’ve looked like a tomato at this point, 

“Judging by your very red and embarrassed face, I’m going to guess that you like her too, right?” Robin asks.

Steve and Robin look at Eddie as he shyly scratches the back of his neck 

“Okay, yeah I like her..I like her a lot actually.”

“But isn’t tomorrow Valentine’s day?” Steve throws out.

“Oh this is perfect!” Robin jumps up and down excitedly. “Here’s what you’re going to do…”  she began as she brought Eddie closer to tell him her plan.

_______

Sticking to the plan that Robin (and Steve who got dragged into it by Robin) helped him with, Eddie got up early for school for once in his life. That morning he showered, and dressed in a clean Black Sabbath shirt (that he’d previously ironed that evening, earning a raised eyebrow from his uncle, and hung up ready to put on in the morning.)

Dressed and ready to leave, he picked up the bunch of red roses that he’d bought from the Valentine’s day section in town yesterday evening after leaving Family Video.

He’d called you and asked if you needed a lift on the way to school, and knowing you the way he did, you would much prefer to ride with him in his van than take the school bus.  

“Son..” Uncle Wayne called out to Eddie as he was just about to go through the door. “Good luck today, you be nice to that girl, alright?” His gruff voice huffs out.

“I will Wayne, I can promise you that.” Eddie throws over his shoulder with a wide grin as he makes his way to his van.

_______

Pulling up to your house, he parks his van and takes a moment to catch his breath before grabbing his bunch of roses and walking to your front door.

Squaring his shoulders he raises his knuckles to your door to deliver a confident knock. 

“I’m coming!!” he hears you shout from inside the house.

You unlock the door to see your best friend hiding his face behind a bouquet of beautiful red roses before handing them to you.

“These are for you. Happy Valentine’s day” he says as you kindly accept the flowers from him.

Although you had smiled when he’d given you the flowers, he could still sense your confusion at his gesture. 

“I got your notes…I thought they were really cute y’know and truth be told when I read them I kind of hoped they were from you.” he rambled, feeling that familiar heat flushing across his cheeks.

“How did you figure out it was me?” you ask.

“Well it wasn’t easy, but Robin and Steve helped me figure it out…mostly Robin, though..” he chuckles. 

There’s a moment's silence between the two of you where you’re both looking into each other’s eyes.

Feeling bold, you rise up on your tip-toes to place a quick peck to Eddie’s cheek. You feel him smile brightly under your lips.

“Thanks for the flowers, Ed. They’re beautiful” 

“You missed.” he says with a look of disappointment in his deep brown eyes.

“Huh?”

“You missed.” he says again, smirking as he points to his lips.

“Take me on a date first, and then we can see about that kiss, Ed” you giggle.

“Let me take you to the movies tomorrow? We can hold hands and do all that cute shit that you’re supposed to do on a first date” he looks to you excitedly.

“I’d love to!” 

“Great! I’ll come pick you up at seven?” 

“It’s a date” You smile back at him.

[babybluebex]

bad idea, right? | joseph quinn x fem!reader

summary: yes, i know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect? // aka your ex joseph conveniently texts you to come over just as you're missing him, and who can say no to those eyes? pairing: joseph quinn x fem!reader tags: SMUT (minors dni), thigh riding, teasing, confessions of love, bareback (USE A CONDOM IRL PLEASE!!!), no ejaculation (it's ok, you'll see, just read it) author’s note: i am BACK with a new joe fic, i have been thinking about him NONSTOP ever since miss olivia dropped this song, and it's taken me forever to write this but here we are :) enjoy! follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post new fics!

This was such a bad idea. No, it wasn’t a bad idea. It was the worst idea, one of the worst things you have maybe ever done. That bar wasn’t set too high, but the point remained. It was stupid and bad, and you just shouldn’t be doing it. And yet, here you are. 

You had been out drinking with your friends, ironically trying to get over Joseph. He was a good man— good enough, at least— and had been a relatively good boyfriend to you, but he was different than everyone else and was itching for more than you were, a family and a life and shit, and you had just wanted to have fun with him, so you had broken it off with him. The breakup had initially happened a few months ago, but your friends had never been able to drag you out of your flat and to a bar until then. There was nothing to mourn, you tried to tell them. We just wanted different things and split amicably, there’s no bad blood there that I need to drink to get over. 

Around 11 o’clock or so, your phone buzzed on the bar top, and you glanced down to see a text from a number that your phone didn’t recognize, but you knew all too well. I’m lonely, it said. Would you like to come over? 

Your friends were absorbed in their conversation, so you put down your vodka soda and typed out a reply. Joe, you know that’s a bad idea. 

I moved. Do you need my new address? 

You sighed. Yeah, I do. 

There was something about Joseph that you couldn’t place, but it made him irresistible. He was magnetic, he was charismatic, he was attractive and funny and kind, he was everything, but he just wasn’t what you wanted or needed for your relationship. He wanted kids; you didn’t. That was it. He was so irresistible, though, that there was no question about the fact that you would wreck your plans to see him. 

“Hey, I gotta go,” you told your friends, and they all booed and awed and asked what was going on. 

“Wait,” one of your friends started. “Are you going to see Joe?”

You scoffed, in a way that you hoped conveyed how crazy you thought that was. “No,” you said. “My social battery just ran out all of the sudden. Long day at work, and I’ve got another long one tomorrow and… You know how it is.” 

“Alright,” your friend said with a pout. “Be safe, alright? Let us know when you get home.” 

You agreed and, with a few hugs and kisses, you went on your way. Joseph had texted you his new address and you plugged it into your Uber app, and, the whole ride there, your leg was jiggling and you were nervous. It was just Joe, it wasn’t like you were going to meet some random guy you met online (although Joe had started out as some random Hinge match). You had dated him for two years, you knew him, so why were you nervous? 

He was grinning at you when you reached his place on the second floor, an easy sort of smile that you remembered loving. “Hi,” he said softly, reaching out for you, and you took his hands, smiling back at him. 

“Hey,” you said. “So, this is your new place, right?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said with a shrug. “It’s not much, but it’s alright.” 

You stepped inside and set down your bag next to the door, along with your jacket and shoes, and you examined the front room. The new flat was definitely smaller than the one you had shared together, the kitchen all smushed up next to the den, with the smallest hallway leading down to the bathroom and bedroom, and you settled on the couch easily. “I like it,” you said, your eyes going to his bookcase next to his television. A biography of Caracalla sat open, and you shook your head. “It’s cute. Very you.” 

“Thank you, love,” Joseph said. He sat down beside you and put his arm along the back of the couch behind you, and you inched a little closer to him. 

“Isn’t it a little… Silly?” you started, and you began to chew on your lip. 

“What is?” Joseph asked. 

“This dumb little dance we have to do,” you said. “Like we both don’t know why I’m here. We have to pretend, like, ‘Oh, I like your apartment’, ‘Oh, how have you been’, y’know?” 

“Well, we don’t have to pretend,” Joseph said. “We can just… Get started.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “But I don’t wanna, like, just come over and fuck and leave.”

“So…” Joseph started. “You want genuine small talk?”

You shrugged. “I guess,” you said. “How have you been?”

“Honestly,” Joseph started. “Pretty bad. I’m so used to coming home and having you here, I find myself so lonely and bored and… I don’t know. It’s been a few months, I thought I’d get over… Whatever this is.”

“That’s alright,” you said. “I’ve been missing you a lot too. I miss our old apartment… The bathtub was so nice and big.” 

“Yeah,” Joseph chuckled. “You remember when we took a bubble bath together and lit candles? That was nice.”

“Yeah,” you agreed wistfully. It went quiet then, both of you trying to avoid the obvious, and you finally sighed. “This is a bad idea, right?” 

“Probably,” Joseph said. You looked over at him to find him already looking at you with those damned chocolate puppy eyes, and you tilted your head a bit, your eyes lingering on his lips. That’s something that you missed about him; he was a damn good kisser. 

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” you said quickly, and you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. His arm around your shoulders dragged you close to him, and he kissed you back, letting his lips mold against yours. You moaned softly, taking in the familiar taste of him, and you shuffled to sit across his lap. His hands went to their usual spots in the back pockets of your jeans, squeezing and kneading your ass as his tongue slipped inside your mouth, and you raked your fingers through his hair. You don’t remember him doing his hair across his forehead like this the last time you saw him, but maybe he did, but it really didn’t matter. He was hot as fuck, and he wanted you. 

“Fuck,” Joseph whispered as he broke the kiss. His focus went to your smooth neck, kissing and lightly sucking and making you moan again, and his hands drifted out of your back pockets and went to the front of your pants, popping the button open with ease. “Pretty girl…” he mumbled, and you giggled as he started to edge your pants down. The angle was awkward, definitely, and you shuffled to stand up and take down your pants. Joseph dipped down on the couch a little to pull off his sweatpants (grey, soft, the kind you once told him make his dick look good), and he discarded them to the side as you straddled one of his big thighs. This was always one of his favorite things, having you ride his thigh, and he looked gleeful when he realized that that’s what you were doing. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, and you smiled, flexing your hips down and starting to drag yourself along his hard thigh. 

“I remember you liked this,” you told him, and Joseph’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, letting his head fall back as you started up a rhythm, letting yourself glide along his leg. He mumbled and cursed, his big hands falling to your hips, but he didn’t control you; he was just holding you, feeling you, loving on you. 

“I do,” he mumbled. “God… Yes, sweet girl, just like that.” 

You whimpered as your clit brushed your stretched panties, and Joseph looked up, a sly smile on his lips. You loved when he watched you, and you made sure to move your body smoothly— all the better of a show for him. “Yeah,” he mumbled, biting his plush bottom lip. “That feel good?” 

You hummed out a positive sound, digging your fingernails into his shoulders through his jumper. “God, Joey,” you sighed, and you lilted your head to watch him as his eyelashes fluttered and he sighed with you. "Missed you."

"I missed this too," Joseph said. "Take off your panties, I wanna feel you."

You couldn't help but oblige him, and you lifted yourself from his leg and stripped off your modest underwear (you weren't exactly thinking ahead when you got dressed to go out, and you certainly weren't expecting Joe to text you). The feel of his warm skin on your pussy made your stomach swim with butterflies, and you put your hands on the back of his neck, just at where the curls ended. God, those curls. You pulled him into a kiss and moaned into his mouth, and you tugged on his curls to make him whine.

"Don't tease me, baby," he told you in a low voice, and you smiled and continued on your path, absolutely set on teasing him now. Your hips slowed, and you nestled your mouth right in the crook of his neck, setting soft kisses on his skin. "Oh, fuck, you're an evil woman, did you know that?"

"Yeah, well," you shrugged noncommittally, and Joe grabbed you around your waist and pulled you off of him. Roughly— rougher than usual?— he pushed you down onto the couch, and he settled himself on top of you, his thick thighs caging you in. You watched greedily as he righted himself and stripped off his jumper, exposing the little soft hairs on his chest; now, without the baggy jumper, you could fully see his hardening cock, rising to lay against his tummy.

"Like what you see?" Joe chuckled lightly, and you realized just how hard you had been staring at him.

"How could I not?" you asked. You reached out for his cock, taking his length in your hand, and you stroked him easily, base to tip, squeezing when you got closer to his balls— just the way he liked. He hissed in a sharp breath through his teeth as his eyes grew three times their size, and you smiled.

"Thought you'd've forgotten about that," Joe laughed breathlessly, and he edged back on the couch, aligning his hips with yours. Apparently, it seemed as if speed was the name of the game tonight, and it almost hurt your heart to think that he just wanted to hook up with you. You knew that coming to his place wouldn't end with a reconfession of love and for him begging for you to stay, but it stung to know that he was just trying to get you out as quickly as possible.

"I could never forget," you said, hoping that he could see through your words and see your teary eyes, hear your thick throat, feel your loss. You loved him, and the breakup hurt, but it was better being apart. But was it really?

"I wouldn't want you to," Joe told you, and he pursed his lips for a moment before he spit down onto your pussy. "You think I can ever forget you?"

You lined up the head of his cock with your hole, watching as he throbbed in your hand, and he sank his hips forward. The feel of the stretch had you gasping, and you moaned as he slid inside you, nestling perfectly. "Hey," Joe said firmly, and you looked up from the show to see him earnestly staring down at you, his eyes... Wet? Tearful? "You don't think I could ever forget you, do you?" he asked, and you bit the inside of your cheek.

"Not now, Joe," you mumbled.

"Yes, now," Joe insisted.

"You're inside me," you protested, and Joe gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly as he began to fuck you. The pleasure made your breath hitch, and Joe buried his face in your neck, kissing the slender column of your throat.

"We can talk and fuck at the same time," Joe said. "God knows we've done worse and fucked at the same time."

"But talk about this?" you asked. "Joey—"

"I can't sleep without you," he said softly. "Every time I wake up alone, my first thought is that you're using the toilet and that you'll be right back. I can hardly relax without your feet in your side... You really did take up the whole of the bed."

"Joe—" you started again, but he shook his head, his curls thwipping you in the face.

"And I can't eat," he continued. "I miss your cooking, and what's the point of eating anyway if you're not gonna steal bits of it off my plate?"

"Don't say that," you frowned. You were still acutely aware of his cock inside you, ebbing and flowing with the movement of your bodies, but, slowly, you came to realize exactly what this was. Maybe this was a reconfession of love. Maybe he would beg for you to stay. Maybe he was more than lonely tonight, and was just rushing the sex to get to the part where he asked you to come back to him. "That's not... Fair. I'm doing better without you."

"What a lie," Joe chuckled mirthlessly. "You're not wearing your favorite going-out dress, you're not even wearing mascara. You didn't want to leave the house tonight, but you did. Why?"

"My friends dragged me out," you said.

"Exactly," Joe said. "You'd rather stay home and rot in bed, because you're just as miserable without me as I am without you. Admit it, we were so good together, don't you want that again?"

"Joe," you started. "We broke up because you wanted kids, and I didn't. That's not something you can compromise on, that's not a conversation you can table for later. We broke up because we wanted different things, and that's okay."

"But I want you back," Joe said. "I need you back. Please, we can compromise on this. We can... Fuck, I don't know, we can get a cat. Or a puppy, or a lizard, or whatever the fuck it takes for you to come back to me."

Before you could say more, your phone buzzed in your purse on the floor just by your head, and you sighed as you reached for it, any distraction welcome. Your friend was texting you: Make it home ok?

Yeah, you answered quickly. Going to sleep. Talk tomorrow xx.

"Joe," you started. "I... I only see you as a friend now. I don't think I can return to what we had."

"That's the biggest lie you've ever said," Joe told you. "If I was just a friend, would you have come over tonight?"

"Yes!" you said. "Because I'm a good friend! You said you were lonely, and I wanted to come help—"

"Oh, God, there was an undertone, and you know that," Joe cringed. "Don't act like you didn't know exactly what this was."

"Fuck," you mumbled. "Joe, I— Can we wait until we're done fucking?"

Joe sighed and, setting his jaw, angled his hips back and pulled out. He went in search of his clothes quietly, and you did the same, and, as you were zipping up your trousers, you said, "I guess I just don't... Don't see how we can have what we had. Not now, not knowing that we want our futures to be so different."

"We don't have to have what we had," Joe said. "We can have something completely new. We can make something entirely different, entirely our own, whatever we want. Please?"

You looked up from your jeans to see him looking at you. He had shaved his facial hair down to nothing, and you frowned to look at it. "I hate the way you do your hair now," you mumbled. "And I wish you'd grow your mustache back out."

Joe shrugged. "Maybe I will," he said. "If you want me to."

"I do," you said. "And we can get a cat, but you have to do the nasty shit, cleaning up after it and everything. We can... We can get back together, if you... If you promise you'll never leave me again."

Joe stepped towards you and wrapped you in a tight embrace, and he kissed the top of your head. "Never again, love."

[tightjeansjavi]

⟡ sentiments n’ bubbly ⟡

A/N: so, this one another one of my post shower thoughts that has now transformed into this little fic 🥹 this time of the year is a struggle for myself and for others, and I hope it can bring us all a bit of peace before the new year 🤍

~word count: 4.5k~

pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: it’s NYE and you find yourself in Joel Miller’s coffee shop. He’s a firm believer that no one deserves to spend New Year’s Eve alone.

Warnings: angst, fluff, no age gap, discussions of self image issues, bullying, food/eating, language, anxiety, fear of social situations, fomo, mentions of therapy, NYE blues, self deprecating thoughts, flirting, meet-cute, no outbreak/modern day AU, Sarah and Tommy exist in this universe, soft!joel, mentions of alcohol, reader has no physical descriptions such as body type or skin color, some content included may be triggering for some as Joel and the reader have some very real conversations about life. +18 minors dni!

It’s New Year's Eve. The official last day of the year. A whole 365 days has come and gone, and yet, you find yourself feeling the same way you did last year. It wasn’t like you had a particularly terrible life or anything of the sorts, but you still had your struggles. Your daily contemplations over whether you were doing enough, being enough in your little life. You try to focus on all the good that happened in those 365 days of life.

All the laughter, smiles, the warm fuzzy feelings that you found yourself chasing more often than none. The bad times always find their way to trickle in and weasel into your conscience like an infection. The truth is that you know life comes with both good and bad memories. But why is it so hard to push back the bad? Why is it so easy to beat yourself down? You could have done this better, you shouldn’t have said the things you said, did you remember to turn your out of office on before you left the office?

Shit. There was that one email I didn’t get to.

Maybe you find yourself trying to cram in as many last minute tasks before the new year. Closet clean out? You haven’t worn that sweater in months..yet, you find yourself holding onto it because it was a gift from a dear friend, and you don’t want to unintentionally hurt their feelings by donating or regifting it.

Fridge clean out? Well, it does say that horseradish never expires..but you can never be too careful!

Clean your living space from top to bottom? Maybe next year you’ll invest in cleaner products for both the earth and your brain cells. Bleach can be awfully nasty to deal with.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of you. Leftovers are your meal of choice for the evening. You spent hours cleaning your kitchen, and you’d rather not have to do another wipe down till tomorrow.

Hey, are you sure you don’t want to come out with us tonight? We’re leaving in an hour!

It's not that you don’t want to go out with your friends, it’s the steps before getting out the door that have always been a struggle for you.

What if my outfit doesn’t look the way I planned it out in my head?

What if I completely botch this makeup look?

What if the club is too packed?

You hate feeling this way, often thinking you’re a burden to your friends because you're constantly planning ahead of time. Living in the moment for you has always been tough. A gray area that sometimes you have found yourself making peace with, and other times you just wish you could be different.

You reach for your phone while you’re already mentally planning the steps in order to get ready in time. Being late is never an option, even when it’s just a fun night out in town.

Hey, I thought it over and I’d love to come out with you guys :) see you soon!

You send the text in a flash before tossing your half eaten slice of pizza onto the coffee table and rush to your room.

You tear up every inch of your closet looking for the perfect outfit. It's New Year’s Eve after all, and you want to be shimmering like a grand disco ball.

The outfit is on, and you look great! It turned out even better than you pictured it in your head. But the longer you stare in the mirror.

Fuck. Can’t I just turn my brain off for one night? Please?

And there it is, again. That gnawing little voice inside your head that pops up, gleaming and waving its hand just in case you forgot that it existed.

You aren’t actually going to wear that..are you?

It looks all wrong.

And you’re going to be freezing—

Your friends are going to look 10x better than you—

“ENOUGH!” You shout to no one in particular before you stomp off to the bathroom.

After taking a deep breath, you pull out your array of makeup from one of the bathroom drawers. Pinterest becomes your best friend again while you scroll to find a makeup look that screams you.

Bold. Glittery. Too much glitter?

There is never such a thing as too much glitter. You remind that little voice inside of your head.

Even with your ‘going out playlist’ on full blast, you feel your confidence begin to shrink and diminish as you stare at your painted face in the mirror. It’s not exactly like the picture you found on Pinterest, but there’s no time for you to change it now.

Your phone buzzes again, and this time it’s your friends sending you a group picture of all of them pregaming in their glittery outfits and bright smiles. You heart the message before typing back,

Wow, you guys look amazing! Please don’t be mad, I’m just not feeling up for it tonight. I hope you guys have a blast and stay safe! :)

Your friends understand, because they know that this has always been a struggle for you. A sore spot that hasn’t exactly quite healed the way you wish it had. It’s hard to dig yourself out of a hole that you dug, but you're grateful that they have always been so understanding.

No worries, we love you, and Happy New Year!

And all you feel is guilt.

But instead of wallowing away in your apartment, you grab your coat, purse and keys before making the final decision to go out.

You find yourself outside of a coffee shop just down the block from your apartment. You passed by it everyday during your commute to work, but you never found yourself going in, until now.

The coffee shop is found to be empty as most people are already out to dinner or at a party. It’s somewhat comforting that it’s just you and the lone barista who hadn’t heard you come in yet. His back is turned to you while he wipes down one of the counters, humming to himself as he moves about.

You're immediately drawn into how cozy everything feels. From the decor to the crackling fireplace to the soft music playing through the speakers.

The man turns then, towel gently grasped in his hand when he finally registers that he’s no longer alone. He takes in your attire, finding it odd that someone all dressed up for the evening found themselves here. Then he remembered how his daughter told him it’s rude to judge strangers because you never know what the next person is going through.

He smiles warmly instead. “Hey there, I was uh—jus’ about to close up for the evenin’ but can I get you anythin?’” He’s got a face that you already know you’re going to have a hard time forgetting. Strong built frame, yet soft in all the right places and despite his exterior appearing to be hardened, he seems friendly enough.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t noticed that you were closing up for the night..I don’t want to keep you here. I can always come back another time?”

He detects the way your face slightly begins to fall as he lightly taps his fingers along the counter top he just finished wiping down. “S’alright. I forgot to change the sign out front so that’s all on me. So, what can I get ya? It’s on the house.” He gestured to the menu board above his head.

You hesitated for a moment as you didn’t want to inconvenience this man who probably had his own New Year’s Eve plans to get to. “Are you..sure? I really don’t mind coming back another day.”

“S’alright, I promise. I don’t have anywhere important I need to be anyway.” He said with a slight shrug.

“No fun New Year's Eve plans? And I’ll take a cappuccino, please.” You stepped closer to the counter as you reached into your purse for your wallet.

“Nah. ‘Supposed to meet my brother at a bar nearby for a couple drinks, but he can wait a little longer.” He was already reaching his hand out to stop you from pulling out your wallet, when your eyes met his.

“For the tip.” You said with a smile while placing a couple five dollar bills into the tip jar.

“Oh, thank you. ‘Awfully kind of ya.” He responds softly, out of surprise because most people never bothered to tip. He might even be blushing a little..but he can’t really tell. Maybe it was just the steam from the espresso machine.

“It’s no problem. Gotta support small businesses, y’know?”

He nods in understanding. “Yeah, it’s the least people can do. Anyway, I’ll get that Cappuccino goin’ for ya. Feel free to sit wherever.” He gestured to the empty tables.

The table closest to the fireplace ended up being the one you ultimately chose. It happened to also be his favorite spot as well, go figure.

On any other occasion, Joel would call the customer's name once their drink was ready, but given the current circumstances..and the fact that he hadn’t asked for your name, bringing the coffee to you was perfectly acceptable.

“Here’s that Cappuccino for ya.” His voice drawled above you as he set the mug down in front of you. “Let me know if I can getcha anythin’ else. I’ll just be in the back finishin’ up with the cleanin.’”

“Thank you..” you start to say before realizing that you don’t know this man’s name either.

“Joel.” He clears his throat. “My name is Joel, and you are?..”

You tell him your name and he nods with a small smile.

You're left alone to your thoughts as his footsteps disappear behind the countertop once more. You can faintly hear him busying himself and putzing around as your cappuccino begins to cool without you realizing it.

You find yourself vacantly staring through the windows, and the dimly lit streets and passerby’s. You’ve always had a fond love for people watching and imagining what their lives were like. What their jobs and aspirations were. Did they have a family waiting for them? What made them happy? Would they be able to relate to you?

You don’t even hear Joel’s approaching footsteps nearing the table until he’s saying your name with an edge of concern in his voice because you’ve neglected to have a single sip of your cappuccino that has now become room temperature.

Your eyes meet his deep brown warm ones as your own sense of confusion washes over you.

“Is everythin’ alright? You haven’t touched your cappuccino at all..” he’s not offended, nor hurt, but the empath in him is genuinely concerned, even though you’re just a stranger in his coffee shop.

“Oh.” Your voice falls flat. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I guess I got lost in my own thoughts and completely forgot about it.” You feel bad, awful actually because he took the time to make you this drink, and all you had to do was just drink it—

“Hey, it’s alright. I find myself getting lost in my own thoughts as well. But, I can’t have ya drinkin’ a cold Cappuccino. I’ll make you a new one, alright? It’s no trouble at all.” He’s already reaching over to grab the mug.

“Joel, are you sure? You really don’t have to—”

He cuts you off reassuringly, “I insist. I won’t have my customer drinkin’ a cold Cappuccino on my watch. Ain’t no way.”

He disappears back behind the counter before you are able to protest. Joel returns 10 minutes later with two mugs in hand. You listen to the sound of the chair across from you scraping before he slowly sits down.

“I uh—hope you don’t mind me joinin’ ya? You jus’ seem like you could use some company, darlin.’ S’that alright for me to call you darlin?’”

He’s sweet like warm sticky molasses and honey. He actually might be the nicest guy you’ve met in a long long time.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all, Joel. I could actually use the company, and you can call me darling. That’s alright with me too.”

He smiles at you over the rim of his mug that is clasped between his hands. He gently blows on the billowing steam before he takes a small sip. “So, do you have any fun plans for the evenin’? I’m only assumin’ cus’ you’re all dressed up for a night out in town.” He gestures to your glittery getup that sparkles under the warm flames.

“Well, I did have plans to meet up with some friends tonight..but I wasn’t feeling up for it in the end and somehow ended up here.” You said with a sigh before taking a sip of your own Cappuccino. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“How come?..if ya don’t mind me askin?’ And I’m glad you’re enjoyin’ it. Tastes a lot better when it’s hot.”

The last thing you expected tonight was to engage in a conversation about your daily anxieties with this absolutely gorgeous man. Whom you just met, but crazier things have happened before.

“I don’t mind you asking, Joel. I just don’t want to burden you with my troubles or anything. Especially since I think they’re a bit silly and blown out of proportion.” Your eyes casted downwards into the mug.

“Hey, I doubt you can do that, and between you and me? I’ve heard it all. Got a teenage daughter who’s goin’ through all the things that I’m tryin’ to understand..but as a single father, it’s fuckin’ tough sometimes. But I’d be happy to act as a listenin’ ear for ya.” He genuinely means it, too.

“You have a daughter? How old is she? Teenagers can be a handful, that is very true.” You responded thoughtfully while leaning back against the chair.

You watch the way his eyes light up like a Christmas tree when you show a genuine interest in this man’s life. It’s sometimes a rare occurrence to meet a stranger who you feel like you can just immediately open up to without thinking too hard about it.

“She just turned 13 this year. She’s a good kid, super smart. The kinda kid that probably will end up growin’ up and changin’ the world. She’s..well, my world.” He clears his throat and you notice his dimple poking out in his cheek.

As if this man couldn’t become any more attractive.

“Anyway, she’s already goin’ through some friend and boy drama and it’s jus’ a lot to keep up with. Her mom ain’t in the picture either, so it’s not like I can turn to her for any guidance. She went to her first ever school dance this year in a dress that she picked out. The next thing I know, she’s callin’ me up in tears because some kids thought it was okay to make fun of how she looked. I know kids can be mean sometimes, but I wanted to go in there and teach those little shits a lesson myself.”

He was quite the protective father.

“Kids can be real bitches sometimes, Joel. I never quite understood it myself. Especially since I’m sure your daughter was just minding her own business and having a good time? I learned at a very young age that there’s a lot of jealous people in this world that enjoy causing pain in others for no apparent reason.They might have their own struggles, but that is no justification. Those kids that bullied your daughter will hopefully learn from their mistakes sooner rather than later.”

“She was just mindin’ her own and having a great time. She was so excited to wear her dress. It jus’ makes me so goddamn angry because I can’t protect her from everythin’ out there. It’s somethin’ that I’ve really struggled with this year especially. And I’ve tried to talk to my brother about it, but he doesn’t get it either.” Joel said with a sigh. “I’m glad that you can understand all of this though. I don’t really have any female friends to talk to about this stuff either.”

“Most kids grow out of their ‘mean’ phase after highschool. I can admit that I went through a phase similar to that. Made a lot of mistakes that I had to hold myself accountable for. But, with your love and support, I think your daughter is gonna end up being okay. She’s lucky to have you as a dad.” You reassure him.

“Really? You don’t seem like the type of person to ever hurt someone..then again, I ain’t perfect either. Never have been, never will. I’ve had my own regrets as well. But, I appreciate all that you’re sayin.’ S’Nice to be validated every now and then.” He leans forward with his elbows resting along the table and you’re just beginning to notice how broad his shoulders truly are under his faded flannel.

“I don’t think anyone can ever claim to be perfect. We don’t know everything and can make genuine mistakes. But all we can really do is learn from them, make it up to the people we may have hurt, and move forward. I think you’re a really nice person, based on our conversation, Joel.”

“You’re right, darlin.’ No one in this world can claim they are perfect. It's impossible.” His knee brushed yours gently from how close he was leaning in giving you a clear indication that he was actively listening to everything you were saying. “Anyway, I’m sorry I went off on that tangent jus’ now when we were talkin’ about your New Year’s Eve plans.”

“Dammit.” You sighed with a smile tugging on your lips. “I thought you forgot all about that.”

“Nah. I’m pretty good at rememberin’ even if I find myself havin’ to circle back. So, you didn’t feel up to meeting’ your friends tonight?”

“I was going to, truly. But I just got into my head way too much. It started with finding an outfit to wear. I absolutely tore my closet up and I’m really dreading having to clean it up later. Anyway, I’ve got the outfit on, right?”

He nods while taking another sip of his Cappuccino.

“I’m feeling great, and loving the way the outfit looks on me, and then there’s that stupid mean voice inside my brain. You know the one?”

“Ahh yeah. The voice that tells us that we’re unattractive and worthless? Like when we put on our favorite outfit and it’s not fitting quite right, and we know it’s silly to cry over clothes..but sometimes we just can’t help it? And that voice is right there beating us down because sometimes we forget that it’s natural for our bodies to change?”

Damn, he’s good.

“So...you hear that voice sometimes too? I honestly thought I was alone in this feeling. I tend to keep these thoughts to myself because I don’t want to burden others, y’know? I do see a therapist, though. It definitely has helped a lot, but I’m still struggling.”

“Darlin,’ I know exactly where you’re comin’ from. I had these favorite pairs of jeans that I would wear pretty much everyday. Well, just this past month I found that they ain’t fittin’ the way they used to. The zipper wouldn’t budge, and then I spent a good hour tryin’ all the tricks in the book to get those suckers to fit. Well, none of it worked and then I started beatin’ myself up. Sayin’ all the nasty names I could come up with. Then after all of that, I thought about all the delicious meals I had this year and especially these damn ice cream sundaes that my kid is obsessed with. Suddenly, the jeans not fittin’ didn’t bother me as much anymore.”

“Ice cream sundaes are delicious, and even more-so when you are enjoying them with your daughter. I pretty much went through the exact thing that you’re describing. I know that we shouldn’t give into the societal bullshit of looking a certain way to appear more attractive, but it’s just hard sometimes. That’s why I try to cycle through my closet every now and then so I’m not holding onto clothing that doesn’t fit me anymore. Did you end up keeping the jeans?..”

“She’s been requestin’ them for dessert pretty much every night, and I have a hard time tellin’ her no. They are absolutely delicious. It is definitely hard to pass them up sometimes. It’s comforting to know that other people go through the exact same thing that we’ve gone through. I did in fact donate the jeans, and then bought a new pair the same day. Wearin’ ‘em now actually, and I gotta say, I think I look quite good in ‘em if I do say so myself.” He said in a cheeky tone that sent heat rising on your cheeks.

“Well, I think you should stand up, if you feel comfortable doing so, that is, and let’s see what this jeans talk is all about.”

He grins at you, eyebrows playfully dancing while he sets his mug down along the table before pushing his chair back to stand up.

He gives you a little spin, one that neither you were expecting, but you could tell that he was having fun showing off his new denim.

“Okay, respectfully? Those jeans look amazing on you, they are very flattering, Joel.”

He laughs a warm and hearty laugh as his cheeks turn beet red from your words. Even if you’re just playing along, he’s feeling charmed by your presence.

“Really? Y’know, I was thinkin’ the same thing and a’that..but I’m a pretty humble guy.” He said sheepishly.

“Joel, screw being humble. You’re wearing those jeans like they’re made for you! You gotta own that.” You said with a giggle.

“Alright. Alright. If ya say so, darlin.’ I appreciate the compliment, but have ya taken a look at yourself tonight? You’re glitterin’ like a goddamn mirror ball. Gonna blind me with all that sparkle Y’got goin’ on.” He’s flirting, now. He’s absolutely shamelessly flirting with you.

You find yourself leaning forward then, close enough that he can see the pretty shimmer painted on your eyelids and your undeniable flirty smile.

“Joel, are you flirting with me right now?” You’re feeling bold, and curious to know if you were reading the signs correctly, or letting your brain run a muck in theories.

“I am, darlin.’ Is that..alright? Cus’ if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I can stop.”

“No, please continue to flirt away. I’m glad that you’re getting to see my outfit, Joel. I probably have glitter in places where glitter doesn’t belong.” You said with a light, airy laugh.

“You’ll be finding little bits of glitter all over the place well within the next year. Do you have any to spare?” He asked with a warm chuckle.

“Actually..I do have some to spare.” You reached for your purse along the side of the chair and pulled out your tube of glitter eyeshadow that you had brought just in case you needed any touch ups. “May I?”

“Oh, you really weren’t kiddin’ when you said you have some to spare, huh?” He leaned in closer to get a better look. “That’s a really pretty color, darlin.’ You think I can pull that off?”

“I don’t kid when it comes to my glitter, Joel.” You said teasingly. “I absolutely think you can pull this color off. But, I’ll need you to close your eyes so I can apply this more eveningly.”

“Okay, I’m trustin’ you, darlin.’” He slowly closed his eyes then and only flinched a little when he felt the applicator glide across his eyelid. “Sorry, wasn’t it expectin’ to feel that damn cold.” He murmured softly.

“No worries, Joel. It can be a bit ticklish at times.” You scooted your chair in closer to him so both of your knees were tucked in between his as you delicately applied the shimmering shadow. Your tongue was peeking out between your lips as you focused on the task at hand.

He tried to peek his eye open once, before you playfully scolded him and said, no peeking.

To which he grumbled out a response with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Am I pretty yet, darlin?’” He asked with his eyes still shut as you admired your work.

“Very pretty, Joel. Okay, you can go ahead and open them.” You pulled out a little handheld mirror from your purse and held it out for him to admire his appearance.

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the feeling before he averted his attention to the mirror you were holding. “Oh, shit. Wow. Y’know what..I actually think I like it.” He looked over at you then before he realized how close you were sitting to him. “Thank you, darlin’ I feel like I’m a mirror ball too.”

“It really brings out your eyes, Joel. They were already pretty before, but now, they’re even more beautiful.”

You were already forgetting about how awful you felt earlier, and the guilty feelings for turning down your friend's offer to go out. It admittedly felt nice to talk to another person that shared more things in common with you than you realized. To be validated, and in turn, validate someone as well? It felt really, really good inside.

“So, now that we’re both glittered up, and it’s two hours till the start of the new year, would you maybe care to join me for a drink? Only if you’re feeling up for it, that is.” Joel asked you with his eyes flickering back to yours. Truthfully, he’s happy that you somehow found yourself in his coffee shop tonight. He can’t remember the last time he’s connected with someone on such a deep and personal level.

“I’d love to get a drink with you, Joel.” You don’t even second guess your answer, and if the feelings come up later, so be it. That little voice inside of your head is nowhere to be found as Joel offers you his arm.

You help him finish closing up for the night before the two of you find yourselves walking arm in arm to the bar that his brother Tommy was at. During your walk, you find yourselves falling back into conversation that flows easy like a steady stream. When you bring up feeling guilty for often being a homebody, he reassures you that wanting to spend a quiet evening with yourself is perfectly normal, and it’s something you shouldn’t feel ashamed of. He goes on to add that if you want to go out more, that’s perfectly okay to do as well. But you should never pressure yourself to go out and have a good time, if that’s truly not what you want to do.

And when you find Joel’s brother at the high top with a glass of bubbly in front of him, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Joel, what is that on your face?” He leans in close to inspect the glitter shadow painted on Joel’s eyelids.

You and Joel turn to one another with two knowing smiles plastered on your faces before you laugh in unison, “it’s glitter, of course!”

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[hanckocks-dagger]

oh, the night's so blue

masterlist

John hancock x f!reader

Description: After a drunken one night stand with your boss and mayor, you'd planned on hiding out in your room for several months. Those plans get delayed when Nate, general of the Minutemen and your childhood friend, asks you to join him on a quest in the west of the Commonwealth.

Tags: Drunken one night stand, Hancock is a pining simp, and a slut. Reader is not SoSu, has afab characteristics and is referred to with she/her pronouns through the story. No y/n

Warnings: Smut! Drunk sex, consentual but I'll throw in the dubcon tag anyway, talk of violence, guns and drugs a lá Fallout ofc

Word count: 6.1K

Notes: So this is a one-shot that sort of feeds into an idea I've had in my head for a while, of a reader that knew Nate from before the bombs, who either ended up in Vault 111 as well or something similar, but got out about a year before Nate did. This might end up turning into a series of semi-connected one-shots or I might just cut it off here, but I definitely have some other ideas for this story rolling around in my head. More story focused than some of my other fics, delving a bit more into what actually living in the game's story would be like, but of course a hefty dose of our lovely Hancock. But I really like Nate, and I didn't want to make the reader the Sole Survivor so we could see the two of them interact. Also my Nate build is usually high charisma, high strength and low intelligence (idiot savant perk ofc), so he's a bit of a himbo <3 my fav type of man.

Also just a small and totally irrelevant thing, but I headcanon Nate/the sole survivor as choosing not to smoke, just because the player isn’t able to smoke in the game. Just a fun tidbit I threw in there. Also, I’m a smoker and I have friends who aren’t and the relentless back and forth teasing is always fun. They all vape anyway, so it’s just a race for who gets cancer first lmao. 

Cross posted on my ao3!

"What's the status on the top shelf stuff?" You yelled out from the back room, wiping drops of sweat from your forehead before they could drop into your eyes. Sure, the new beer tap was ingenious, making the closest thing to actual fresh beer since you'd come out on this side of the cryo-chamber, but goddamn were the canisters heavy.

"Almost out of moonshine, luv," Charlie called from the bar, tinny cockney accent carrying through the open space.

That was fine, you could drop by and speak to Vadim tomorrow before opening, as long as Hancock could supply the caps and lend you some help to carry the bottles back.

"Anything else?" You grunted, heaving a full canister back out to the front, bending down to connect the pipes.

"I think you should start carrying some Fireball, I know how much you used to like it," A new voice spoke up from the other side of the bar, startling you into banging your head on the underside of the bartop. You cursed, shooting to your feet, finding a ginning, familiar face on the other side.

"Nate!"

He said your name back with the same amount of enthusiasm, slouched in one of the barstools, familiar bright blue vault suit looking a little worse for wear.

"When did you get in? How did you get in?" You asked, eyes flitting about. Sure enough, there in the background, spread over one of the couches was mayor Hancock, speaking with a smiling Magnolia and a broody looking MacReady.

"Just landed in town, figured I'd come say hi before crashing at the Rexford."

"Well, shit," You breathed, wiping your sweaty hands on a dishrag, "Can I get you a drink? I want to hear about this oh-so-secret mission you were on."

"Sure, I'll take a beer."

You fished over a clean-ish looking glass, gave it a quick wipe for good measure, and poured. The movements were practiced, muscle memory from a lifetime ago taking over as you tilted the glass, filled it, flicked the spout the other way for some top foam. You slid it over the bar, accepting Nate’s smile as payment. 

You grabbed yourself a glass, calling out to Charlie as you filled the glass with ice, “I’m calling it a night, just leave me a list of whatever needs to be done in the morning.

You poured yourself some of the top shelf stuff, nothing good by pre-war standards, but nowadays it was rare and mostly didn't taste like it was 200 years old.

You stepped around the bar, planning on planting yourself on a stool next to Nate, but he was already rising to his feet, heading for the rest of the group.Hiding your awkwardness, you trailed after him. You knew MacReady tangentially, sometimes bringing him drinks into the backroom, keeping an eye out for disagreements and sometimes running up to get Ham when things were getting out of hand. Magnolia was your coworker of course, and there was plenty to talk about after long shifts, but she was– technically speaking– about twenty years your senior, and married to her job in a way you weren't.

Then there was Mayor Hancock. A charming flirt at the best of times, happy to stand up for you on the job, as the owner of the bar, after all, but there was always something about him you never managed to crack, never straying away from genial small talk. Small talk, of course, these days, meant discussing the last Super Mutant raid, or let him rattle off about his favorite chems. As you approached, he tipped his hat at you and you responded with a little curtsy, using your free hand to tug on your apron like a skirt. 

You fell onto the couch beside Nate, stirring your drink with a finger, using your other hand to untie the apron around your waist. Being off your feet felt good. There were no clocks in the Third Rail, and no windows, so your sense of time tended to get a bit skewed, but seeing as Ham usually tossed out the stragglers by 5 am and you'd had a mess and a half to clean up, you assumed it must be closing in on dawn. A rough 12 hour shift made your liquor feel earned, as you sipped at it, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

"So," You said, catching Nate's attention before he could get sucked into the others' conversation, "What was the notorious General of the Minutemen up to this week? Liberating some more settlements?"

"Mmm, actually doing some work for the Railroad," His tone went hushed, unnecessary and strangely endearing, as everyone in the bar knew and was at least non-committal about their activities.

"Ahh," You replied, matching his tone. "Did it go well?"

"It went fantastically. I brought my own team in," He motioned with his beer toward Hancock and MacCready, "But we ended up getting some help from another agent, too. And, man, what a lady," he went a bit starry eyed, making you laugh.

"Got a little crush, Nathaniel?"

He snorted, and you spotted the tinge of red in his cheeks with glee. 

"Nothing like that, but what a powerhouse. You should have seen her, mowing them down with a minigun."

"Don't sell yourself short, Nate, I've seen you in Power Armor before. Unstoppable force and all that."

Ever humble, Nate's cheeks turned rosier, and he glanced down at his drink. You watched his Adam's apple bob, the shy smile that graced his features.

To put him out of his misery, you turned to the group at large, "So, does this mean you've returned our beloved mayor back, or are you heading out again?"

Hancock's attention snapped up from MacReady so he could grin at you, "What, you missed me doll?"

"Well, you do sign my paychecks," You smiled back at him, then remembered, "Oh, yeah, speaking of, I have to go over to Diamond City tomorrow to get more of Bobrov's best, maybe I can steal Nate to help me ferry it all back."

He hummed, "What d'ya say, brother? 100 caps to keep my favorite employee safe?"

From behind the bar, Charlie gave his best impression of a grunt, "I resent that, mayor!"

"'M sorry, Charlie, you just don't have her charm."

"Or her tits," Magnolia chimed in, twirling an unlit cigarette in her fingers as she smirked at you.

You flushed, eyes flitting around, finally landing on Hancock and MacReady's empty glasses, "Refills, boys?"

"Thought you'd clocked out," MacReady said, even as he handed over his glass. "Well, I'm the club's ambassador even after hours, gotta keep the reputation up."

"You best not be giving free drinks to every sorry brother that walks in here," Hancock called after you as you stepped behind the bar.

"Mm, no," You sing-songed back, "Only my favorites."

The night passed easily. You stayed by Nate’s sidelistening to him tell tales of the people he'd been meeting, the farm he recruited for the minutemen last week. He didn't delve too far into this last mission, always the good soldier who followed orders. You spent about twenty minutes trying to guess his secret Railroad code name.

"Mmmm, buttercup."

"Not even close."

"Sugar bomb?"

The look of offense he gave you was so scathing it had you spitting out half your beer over the table, doubled over in laughter as he complained.

"It relates to my prowess as an agent, not some pre-war pet name!"

"Fine, fine, uhhhh. Striker? Shadow? Tank?"

"Honestly, these are terrible. Never open a baby naming business."

"Uhm, excuse you," You said, taking a sip of beer to try and reduce the heat in your cheeks, "I would make excellent raider names. Chainsaw, evil-eye, uhhhhh," You cast your eyes around, searching for inspiration, "Ricky."

"Ricky?" MacReady asked, eyebrows knit in confusion, "What's wrong with Ricky?"

"Dunno," You shrugged, "Doesn't he just sound like an asshole?" You put on an air, repeated 'Ricky' in an ominous voice, which got MacReady and Nate to crack up again.

Magnolia vanished up to the surface after a bit of flirting with Hancock, insisting on her beauty sleep. As was your usual, you whistled after her, calling lewd, joking comments as she walked up the steps. As was her usual, she gave you a scowl and the middle finger.

"Ehhh, I'll get her to crack one of these days," You murmured into your beer, that tipsy, never ending giddy smile stuck on your lips. You caught Hancock's eye where he sat, now alone on the couch, spread eagle with his gangly limbs. When he spotted you, he gave you a grin, cigarette in his teeth.

Suddenly you desperately wanted a smoke. You patted your own pockets, found that you'd left them at home. You cursed the you from the morning for whatever logic had made that choice, suddenly desperate for nicotine.

Your head, resting against the back of the couch, lolled to look over at Nate. Who, of course, didn't and had never smoked. Goody-two-shoes.

So, you clambered to your feet, ignoring the ache that made itself apparent, and collapsed over besides Hancock.

"Does the good mayor have some cigarettes to share?" You asked, hand on his knee, leaning in close to be heard over a playful argument MacReady and Nate had started.

Hancock's smile got wider somehow, those deep dark eyes crinkling at the corner, giving the appearance of crow's feet.

"For you? Always." He dug around in the deep pocket's of that crazy coat, pulling out a cigarette case. Instead of handing you one, though, he plucked the one from his mouth and stuck it into yours.

Brain slowed by a long shift and plenty of alcohol, it took a moment for the action to catch up with, fingers rising slowly to pluck at the cigarette. You blinked at him, but he seemed unphased, pulling out another cigarette from his case and lighting it.

You leant back in the couch as your brain caught up on his move, staring blankly at a gesturing Nate, MacReady equally engrossed, somehow having missed the interaction that now had your brain reeling. Hancock's arm was stretched out behind you, tantalizingly close, fingers almost tickling the hairs at the back of you neck. You felt the chill of goosebumps, shook off the urge to shiver.

You puffed at the cigarette instead, slowly sinking back in the couch, reverting back to the sort of talk you were used to with the mayor, "How'd you like the trip? Nice to get out of the city?"

Hancock took it in stride, as he did everything, "Oh, yeah. Makes you forget what's out there, staying too long in these walls."

You hummed your assent. You stuck to Goodneighbor because you wanted to stay alive. The furthest you'd ventured in the last year was scoping out that brewery for the Rexford. But Hancock was a ghoul, and even so was more careless with safety than anyone else you knew. Getting out of the city, with only yourself and the stars as company... it was a romantic idea.

"So, what, we're gonna become the Railroad's home base now?" You teased,

"Not exactly," Hancock replied, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, "But Nate knows his shit, and he trusts them. They're doing good, dontcha think?"

You considered this, rolling it around in your liquor soaked brain, "I guess it depends on whether you think the synths are just robots or... y'know, slaves being put through just as much pain as we are."

Hancock nodded, eyes trained on you, expression curious. For all his flirting, Hancock was easily one of the more respectable men you'd met, always willing to listen, even if he was usually a bit too out of his mind to interpret it. He was whip-smart, too, when he was sober enough to put a thought together.

"I suppose it depends on if you believe in the soul. Do you, Mayor Hancock?" Some deep-seated, long ago buried urge reared his head. You remembered being a kid, sitting in a diner with high-school friends, batting your eyelashes at a crush of yours, a coy smile on your face, trying for a sultry voice and missing it by a mile. But now you were about two hundred years older, and had a few years of experience under your back.

So when you looked at Hancock through lidded eyes, purposely hollowed your cheek as you sucked on your cigarette, the one that had been in his mouth before yours, you could appreciate his reaction. The widening of his eyes, the way the hand behind your head seemed to move just a bit closer, the minute shift of his hips as his body turned further towards you.

"I think I'm a bit too sober for those kinds of questions," He snickered. Being a Ghoul made determining age difficult, but sometimes you were sure Hancock was young, younger than you even, the way he carried himself, the carelessness of a teenager.

You smiled back, soft, put your cigarette out in an ashtray on the table, picking up your glass instead.

Hancock said your name, sultry, and that hand finally brushed your shoulder, a gentle, teasing touch.

You answered with a smile, a tilted, " John," followed by a sip from your drink, one you concentrated all your effort into drinking as normally as you could. If you let your tongue slide over your lips to catch the lingering taste, well, no one had to know.

"You know," You said, voice hushed as if you were revealing a great secret, "I feel like I don't know you well enough. You haven't been around enough since you hired me."

"I knew I left the bar in good hands," As if to prove his point, his fingers teased over your bare forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Maybe, I should- ah- give you a tour of the Old State House sometime."

The innuendo was painfully obvious, accompanied by a lecherous wink, but you felt your face flush anyway, ridiculously charmed by his brazenness.

Charlie ended up kicking the four of you out, insisting on sweeping before the sun came up. On the way up the stairs, conspicuously a few steps behind Nate and MacReady, the two of you got a bit too handsy, after you'd spent the last couple of minutes petting the velvet of his coat, hypnotized by the luxurious softness of the ancient costume, as Hancock rattled off history facts about Boston, some of which you'd half remembered from history class.

"Found the old fucker's diary in a closet on the second floor," He'd said, as your fingers traced down his arms, across his chest, barely disguised fascination. You wanted to steal his hat, tuck it onto your hair, flick it the way Hancock often did.

"That old bastard was– was kinkier than you could ever imagine," His voice stuttered as your fingers traced near his navel, studying the stitching on the waistcoats he wore.

"Oh yeah?" You snickered, loose enough with drinks to lose your impulse control chasing after whatever felt good in the moment. Mostly that had been cigarettes, but now it was the idea of kissing him, of feeling that mouth on you, anywhere.

"The mayor of Goodneighbor," You breathed, smoothing out his collar, "Keeping himself busy with five hundred year old porn."

Hancock laughed with you.

Outside, the two of you stumbled apart, leaning against the brick wall to share a cigarette, Nate and MacReady somehow still talking, even if Nate was shooting you curious glances and MacReady smirked every time your eyes passed over him.

Eventually, though, when a too loud sentence awoke a grumbling drifted who threatened to hurl a bottle at Nate, it was time to call it a night.

Nate clapped Hancock on the shoulder and kissed your cheek, which got him a punch on the arm, a bit harder than you meant to with the alcohol in your system. He took it like a champ, of course, calling out, "Have fun!" As he rounded the corner towards the Rexford.

MacReady vanished with a tip of his cap, leaving you with smoke in your mouth and the morning sun in your eyes.

"You want to take that tour now, doll?" The brush of a teasing hand over your lower back.

You thought about your dusty apartment, of waking up in a few hours to repeat the same shift for the millionth time. A cold bed, empty.

"Yeah," You breathed, hand catching on the fluttering sash around Hancock's waist, setting a firm pace and tugging him along with you like a dog on his leash. His hands found your hips before you even made it to the door, pinning you against the old wood to kiss you, deep and warm and wet. Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, till you stood hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest.

Somehow, one of you got the door open, falling through the door, walking each other in an embrace towards the staircase. The kiss deepened, Hancock licked into your mouth as you bumped into the banister, struggled to keep your balance.You let him lead, pushing you backwards up the stairs, hands always gentle, ready to catch you if you tripped.

It was a drunken fumble, your shirt rucked up, trying to get all his stupid buttons unbuttoned as you staggered to the stairs, his lips suddenly attached to your neck.

His hands moved to your exposed waist as you reached the second floor, greedy hands moving over the expanse of skin. You huffed against his mouth, finding it unfair as you struggled to even get under his ridiculous fucking shirt, finally managing to sneak a hand under it, nails gently scratching against rough skin. You weren't exactly versed in Ghoul anatomy, but you'd heard enough complaining from drifters at the bar about the lack of feeling in their skin to know you'd have to push a little deeper, press a little harder. Sure enough, as Hancock lead you stumbling towards his bedroom, you pushed your hand up to his chest, pressing down into the meat of one of his shoulders, you received a deep groan against your mouth.

Then suddenly you were in the Mayor's bedroom. Clean enough, by the wasteland standards. Strewn with chems, as you'd anticipated, but the bed looked as clean as you could be.

Hancock had ended up behind you, hands sneaking around to your ass, your collar pushed to the side so he could kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder. It felt... nice. Soft. Softer than you'd anticipated from him. It sent an ache through you, not to your core, though electricity tingled, desperate for attention you hadn't provided it with in years. The ache was in your heart, extending out to your lungs, stealing your breath the way his kisses had, as he gently guided you towards the bed.

You spun around in his arms to capture his lips again, nipping at his bottom lips, hands moving to his waist, sneaking down into his waistband. The two of you danced around the room, lips locked, hands moving as clothes were unbuttoned, tossed to the side, shoes pulled off.

Then you were naked, falling onto a surprisingly plush mattress, as Hancock dropped his coat onto the back of his desk chair, pants unbuttoned and half falling off his skinny hips. He left the hat on, even as he stripped everything else off, and it made you huff a quiet, airy giggle. He grinned back at you, always happy to be happy, as he crawled on top of you, bracketing you between his legs.

His dick was the same as the rest of him, scarred and pocked, but you found you didn't mind in the slightest as your hands wandered downwards, teasingly gentle touches running over him, drawing out airy breaths and groans.

You were quick to guide him into you, pulling him down for a kiss when he entered you, sending shocks of burning pain through you, uncomfortable but manageable. Still, he noticed, unfocused eyes blinking down at you, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," You breathed, even through the tension of your muscles, "Just– uh– been a while. Gimme a moment."

He seemed unsure for a moment, looking as if he wanted to pull out, but you forced a calm through your muscles, slowly feeling him inch his way further inside, until the two of you were hip to hip. You breathed through the sting, shutting your eyes and guiding his face to your neck, happy when he got the hint and nipped at your skin. Your breath got shaky when he found a perfect spit by the junction of your neck and your shoulder, feeling his teeth sink into the flesh, soothed quickly with his tongue, with his spit-slick lips.

"Okay," You breathed eventually, one hand holding the back of his neck, the other clutching at the muscle on his back, "You can move."

"Are you–"

"Hancock," You said, voice firm. In a more sober state, his caution would touch you, but you were desperate to feel the drag of him, to feel his hips working. "I'm a big girl, it's okay. You can move."

He bent down to kiss you as he slowly pulled his hips back. With conscious effort to keep your muscles calm, your side of the kiss was a bit half hearted, but you gasped into his mouth as he pushed back in, the stretch not painful but, "So fucking perfect," You breathed, "Just like that."

Hancock was amazingly receptive, somehow cataloging every moan and twitch, and he had you pushed into the mattress within minutes, gasping and shaking beneath him. His hips drove into you at a perfect pace, his mouth moving to your tits, gentle bites at the soft skin, pulling your nipples into his mouth to flick at them with his tongue. Your whispered words of direction quickly dissolving into moans and gasps of his name.

Almost the exact second the thought of your clit popped into your head, his fingers were there, moving tight circles, pressure just the right side of too hard. You arched into him, a moan so loud it would have made you self conscious if you weren't too focused on driving him deeper, getting him closer, getting as much of his skin on you as you could.

Your orgasm approached with mounting tension in your muscled, strangled cries of more, harder, "Please, John."

You came with a strangled cry, every muscle in your body tensing and then going completely limp, gasps of air as your peak faded, replaced by a pleasant buzzing sensations. John's pace slowed as you shook, hands leaving your clit to grab at your hips, pull you towards him as he chased his own release. You were happy to let him, your hands exploring him leisurely, gripping at his biceps, his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to guide him into another kiss.

You could tell when he got close, the way his hips jerked, thrusts growing rushed and sloppy, desperate, the way his breath quickened, the way his dark eyes seemed to darken even further. At the last moment, he pulled out, wrapping his hand around his cock, haphazard pace the same as he fucked into his fist, a few more pumps and he came over your stomach. You tensed under the surprising heat of it, but relished the soft groan that escaped his mouth, head tilted back, mouth open,

He half collapsed on top of you, breathing against your mouth, only his arms holding him from falling into you. With every inhale, his expanding chest brushed against your breasts, every touch sending electric shots through you.

He collapsed beside you, still panting, one arm curling around your chest, just under your tits, pulling you into his side. "Just– give me a second, I'll get you something to clean up."

"Mmm," You breathed, relishing the heat of him, positive he was warmer than a normal person, the way it radiated off him, heating your skin at the contact points, "Don't worry about it. Deal with it in the morning." Your words were slurring, eyelids heavy.

"Mmm," Hancock agreed, tucking his face into your shoulder. He held you tight, like little kids held onto teddy bears. It was... nice. Unfamiliar to you, but, as you buried your head into the soft pillow, you supposed it was something you wouldn't mind getting used to.

You woke with a start, unfamiliar footsteps thudding above your head. It took a moment to reorient yourself, to recognize the walls you were blinking at, the hand tucked around your waist, the soft snores in your ear. Your head thudded, your mouth dry as a desert, tasting like cigarettes and whiskey. 

"Shit," You whispered, slowly extracting yourself from Hancock's warm arms, getting to your feet. Stark naked. Your pants were slung over a chair, one sock still in the pant leg, the other tossed onto a desk, surrounded by several tins of mentats and empty jet canisters.

"Fuck," You breathed, hopping around trying to get your socks on. One of your boots was on its side, halfway under the bed. Your shirt was hanging on the fucking doorknob and you tugged it on, ignoring the stale smell of sweat and alcohol that clung to it from last night’s shift.

You swept the room, but couldn't for the life of you find your underwear. The thought of leaving them somewhere was mortifying, but when Hancock shifted in the bed, you decided not to risk staying. You pulled your boots on, leaving them unlaced as you crept over the ancient floorboards. Seeing as Hancock was managing to sleep through the ruckus of the drifters on the top floor, you doubted the creak of the house would wake him, but you were still extra cautious as you cracked the bedroom doors open, just enough for you to slip through and rush down the staircase, pointedly not looking at any of the Neighborhood Watch.

Out in the semi-fresh morning air, you took a deep breath, mumbling another curse to yourself as you began a quick jog home, trying to avoid any knowing glances as you rounded a corner and shouldered the door to your apartment building open.

Shower, underwear, find Nate, get him to ask Hancock for the caps while you cowered in the background with sunglasses and a baseball cap over a dark hoodie. Fuck.

The shower was cold, obviously, and you counted your blessings for having running water at all, even if it was a bit too irradiated for comfort. You did your best to scrub fast, hands brushing through sweaty, greasy hair, soaping the necessary areas. You very pointedly did not linger on the dried, flaking cum on your stomach, exorcizing it with a washcloth and curses.

You were busy drying your hair with your dirty shirt, because whenever the water lingered too long it left an uncomfortable sheen over your hair and smelled a bit like a bog. A knock sounded at the door, sending ice through your veins, a response equivalent to the roar of a Deathclaw or the clicking of a Mirelurk.

For a moment, you contemplated crawling onto the rusty fire-escape outside your living room window and walking into downtown Boston to let some Super Mutants eat you.

Instead, though, you stepped over to the door, moments quiet as you contemplated what the fuck you were going to say. Last night was a mistake. You're my boss. I haven't had sex in two years and I'm sorry for leading you on, can I please have my panties back?

Another knock startled you out of your thoughts, fast and panicked, followed by the call of your name from a voice that definitely did not belong to Hancock.

You opened the door to a panting Nate, already back in his suit and armor, gun tossed over his shoulder.

"Nate?"

"Hey! Have fun last night?"

You flushed, even though his expression was nothing but kind; curious and happy for you, like a good friend should be.

"Uh. What's with the get up?" You deflected, which Nate took in stride.

"Distress call from the Minutemen, they asked me to head out west to Graygarden."

"The... farm run by robots?"

"Oh, that's what it is?"

"Wh- Never mind. What are you doing there?"

"Something about the water supply and Super Mutants. I'm leaving in a few minutes"

"Okay, that's fine, I'll drag someone else with me to Diamond City, no stress."

"No, I want you to come with me."

You blinked, hand tensing on the door frame, "Nate I'm not a fighter."

"Yes you are," He said, looking so genuinely confused it made your heart seize a bit, "We fought together. At Anchorage. Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't–" You swallowed. 

After returning home, witnessing massacre after massacre, you'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't get involved in that kind of shit. Even after the world ended, you'd managed to keep that promise. At night, alone in your cold bed, you could still hear the hissing of sentry bots, the creaking of power armor, the whistling of bullets. "I don't do that anymore, Nate."

Nate pulled one of his more serious faces, a rare sight for a man with seemingly endless drive and relentless optimism, even after losing more than you could imagine.

"Look. I understand what you're feeling–" You took a breath to interrupt him, because his blind patriotism had driven him forward when you'd lagged behind, weighed down by the blood on your hands. Nate pushed forward, "I know you don't believe me, but I really do. And nothing helped me heal those wounds like helping people."

"Helping robots." Your voice was flat.

"Who provide food for over a dozen settlements. You'd be doing good."

You bit your lip, casting your eyes over your apartment to avoid the earnest look in Nate's eyes. Sure, you were... content in your life. Goodneighbor was as safe as any settlement could be, you had steady income, some sort of purpose. But you remembered the day Nate had walked into the Third Rail with Nick Valentine on his heels, bleary eyed, vault suit still pristine. The way your heart had sung, the way an aching loneliness you'd felt since coming off the ice had faded.

Was this what the rest of your life would be? Slinging drinks, small talk with coworkers and bar patrons, waiting for the next time Nate would walk in through the doors like some yearning wife waiting for her husband to return from war?

Besides, you weren't going to be able from Hancock in his own fucking town, not for long.

You shut your eyes, feeling the phantom weight of a gun in your hands.

"Fuck. Fine."

The smile on Nate's face was like a kid's at Christmas.

"Great! I'll meet you at the front entrance in..." He glanced down at his pip-boy, "Thirty minutes?"

"Okay."

And he was off, leaving you standing in your doorway, blinking at nothing wondering what the fuck you'd agreed to.

Under your bed there were some loose floorboards you'd been using to store the important things. Your spare caps, your vault suit and pip-boy, your 10mm pistol and your combat shotgun. The former was familiar to you, used centuries ago in a war no one understood anymore. You'd grabbed it on your stumbling way out of the vault, and it was a good thing to or you would have gotten gored by some very territorial mole rats before even making it to a settlement. The shotgun had been stolen, in your trek to downtown Boston, taken off a raider you'd knocked out with a lead pipe. He'd clearly made some adjustments to it, with a hair trigger, less recoil than expected and a scope you'd never needed to use. You'd been meaning to sell it since you'd gotten in, but it had ended up in the floorboards where you'd simply hoped it would stay unless you were strapped for cash.

A knapsack was quickly filled with everything you needed, a change of clothes, a portable water purifier, all the food that would go to waste if you didn't take it with you. You tucked some spare caps into a hidden inside pocket, wrapping them in cloth to keep them from rattling. Your spare 10mm ammo, a few packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight.

The pistol was strapped into a thigh holster, a gun belt held your shotgun rounds. The shotgun went around your shoulder. They felt heavier than you remembered them being, their weight an oppressive reminder with every step you took out of your apartment. You'd need to let Charlie know you wouldn't be in for a while, and you'd need to stop by KL-E-0's for some spare parts. Easy enough, it was just the matter of avoiding certain tricorn-hat wearing mayors.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the street. You cut a more imposing figure with your armor, with the glint of weapons. People moved out of your way as you jogged towards the Third Rail, sliding in through the door like a mouse darting into its burrow.

You rattled like a tin can chime as you walked down the steps to the bar, announcing your approach before you could be seen, a cat with a bell. You were skittish, pausing at the last step to peek into the lounge, trying to spot a red coat, a familiar smile. Coast was clear.

"That the new uniform, then?" Charlie's voice nearly sent you flying, a squeak leaving you as the Mr. Handy suddenly appeared in view. The three eyes didn't exactly convey emotion well, but you could hear the dry amusement in his tone, maybe a hint of judgement.

"No, I uh–" You shook yourself, loosening the cotton in your brain, "Nate asked me to accompany him on a mission. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"Seven days and I'll file a missing person's report." Dry, dry, dry.

"Right," You breathed, gripping the banister like a life line, "Right. I appreciate the uh– The thought, Charlie. I'll see you around." Saliva filled your mouth, and you had a second to panic about throwing up on the floor as your stomach rolled, before the feeling faded.

Charlie didn't dignify you with a response, going right back to... whatever it was he did when the bar was closed, so you turned around, rattling right back up the stairs. First vacation in two years.

Again, you kept your head down as you walked through the alley towards Kill or Be Killed, pointedly avoiding letting your gaze slip to the Old State House, like the building itself would summon him. Something burned in your chest, not quite shame, but the next thing to it. In another life, you would've considered chewing on a baby aspirin, kept the landline in view, ready to dial 911, if you were having a heart attack. Now, though, you shrugged it off, grabbing your canteen and taking a greedy drink, washing away the cigarette taste that still lingered in your mouth.

KL-E-0 was in her usual place, piercing red eye landing on you.

"Well, don't you look dressed to kill."

You'd wondered, sometimes, if she had been especially programmed to sound so sultry, or if it was just her natural charm.

"Heading out for a while," You dug your bag of caps out of your pocket, placing it on the table as your eyes roamed over the wares available, "Think you could spare some grenades and shotgun shells?"

"Let's get you outfitted, killer."

The word left a sour taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cigarettes. You made it through the trade quickly, enough ammo to last you several encounters, enough grenades to get you through a couple rough spots. You left with your pockets lighter, your bandolier, pack and shoulders weighed down.

"Have fun, baby."

"Yeah, thanks, Kleo."

Nate was standing by the entrance, a respectable distance from the Neighborhood Watch, a focused frown on his face as he fiddled with his Pip-boy. He looked up when you approached, frown turning to a bright smile.

"So," you said, shouldering your gun, "Ready to head off?"

"Not quite, we're still waiting on the rest of the party. You know how he is, always fashionably late."

You didn't manage to get out your confused "Who?" Before a familiar hand was clapping Nate on the shoulder, saying, "So! Ready to get this show on the road?"

Fuck.

Notes: This is so insanely self indulgent it’s crazy, but I do hope you enjoyed at least a little <3

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 20: FINAL

So guess what I realized this morning. Today, November 13, 2023 is the one year anniversary of me posting my first DPxDC fic to tumblr. It was the original fill for this very fic. (Which you can find here.)

So I decided I just had to finish this arc and get it posted. This year has been amazing and so much fun. I've become a much better writer and joined a community that has brought me so much joy. I'm glad to be here and I'm glad so many of you like to read what I'm sharing.

I noticed I got a few new readers over the past week or so, so welcome to all of you! Hope you enjoy this early update!

In personal news, my nephew was born and he's adorable and I'll be meeting him tomorrow! (As soon as I'm done posting this, I'm off to make food for his mom.)

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Arc 1

Arc 2: Part 1, Previous

Word Count: 1.2k

-----

In the end, it ended up taking several hours for Danny, Sam, and Tucker to escape their families and converge on the park. In that time, Tim had called Bruce to let him know he’d be back in Gotham by tomorrow and finished most of his homework.

While he worked, Wulf and Bart were having an animated conversation in Esperanto.

Tim was pretty sure Wulf would be bringing Bart to the Ghost Zone for a tour sometime and started making plans to learn Esperanto himself and bribe Bart to get in on them.

Cassie was helping Conner sort through some of the music Sam had given him. Tim was jealous as he solved more banal trig questions. Why did school have to be so boring? He tapped his pencil on the paper in time to the beat of whatever music Conner had playing.

Tucker was the first to arrive. “Danny and Sam not here yet?” he asked as he plopped down next to Bart and Wulf.

“Nope. Haven’t heard from them, either,” said Tim. He opened his phone notifications again just to be sure, but there was nothing new.

Tucker shrugged and pulled out a stick of jerkey to munch on. “Not surprising. The Fentons will be all overprotective after the mayor was kidnapped by a ghost on live TV. And Sam’s parents are just as bad. Only they smother rather than check the weaponry.” He turned to greet Wulf in Esperanto.

An email came through on Tim’s phone and he groaned. “Our evening interview was canceled. No one wants to hear us try to defend Phantom anymore.”

Cassie cursed. “Course not. Bet the paper won’t publish our editorials either.”

Conner looked over, confused. “Won’t they? Clark works for the Daily Planet. They publish stuff like that all the time.”

Tim didn’t look up from his math as he answered, “That’s the difference between a big, Pulitzer winning publication and a small-town op-ed.”

Tucker sighed. “Well maybe someone will remember your interviews from this morning in a positive light.”

Bart rolled his eyes. “Come on, we can’t change it. So let’s move forward. Next step, make friends with more ghosts! Wulf says there’s a bunch of cool people in the Realms.”

“Realms?” asked Tim.

“It’s what he says the Ghost Zone is actually called. The Infinite Realms.”

“Huh. I’ll have to check JL databases, see if they have any information on them.”

Tucker asked something in Esperanto and Bart burst out laughing as Wulf looked on in confusion.

With Bart’s help, though, he rephrased until Wulf was able to reply. And then the three kept to Esperanto. Tim really had to find time to learn it.

Sam was the next to arrive. She grinned and sat down next to Conner. “How you liking the music?”

Conner grinned and showed her the sheets where he ranked the bands so far based on which songs he’d listened to. She then took over the speakers and searched for specific tracks to try and change his mind about some of the bands he liked the least.

Tim let his eyes close as his friends’ voices washed over him.

After some indeterminate time where he dozed between sleeping and awareness, a foot nudged his hip. Tim grumbled out what was supposed to be a, “What?” but was too mumbled to really be understood.

“Come on, Secrets. You can do better than that.”

Tim cracked an eye open to see Danny grinning down at him. He pushed himself up slightly and blinked heavily in the sunlight.

“Finally got away from your parents?” asked Tim.

Danny collapsed on the ground next to him. “Ugh, don’t remind me. They’re freaking out over everything that’s happened the last few days. Jazz and I are basically going to be on lock down until they feel confident the ghosts are gone.”

“Did you have to sneak out to get here?” asked Cassie.

Danny shook his head. “No, I told them I was going to find you guys to make sure you were all safe. You’re welcome to come back to ours tonight, by the way. Mom and Dad basically insisted on it.”

“What do you guys think?” asked Tim. “Spend one more night here at Danny’s and head out in the morning?”

Cassie sighed. “My mom’s already freaking out that I’ve been gone longer than planned. I should get back tonight.”

“I’ll stay,” offered Conner. “I’m your ride home, anyway.”

“Why don’t you come to my place, Conner,” offered Sam. “Your nails need a fresh coat after fighting today. And I need teach you about the different brands of makeup and what to look for in terms of cost, quality, and ethicality. Plus I can get you more music.”

Tim laughed when Conner looked to him. “Go for it. Have fun.”

Conner grinned. “Then yeah, let’s do it!”

Bart shrugged. “Wulf is going to go back to the Realms soon. I’ll head out after. Wally and Linda want me over for a family dinner tonight.”

“Well, looks like that’s it, then,” sighed Danny. “Been fun having other heroes around.”

Tim nudged his shoulder. “Join the Young Justice. You could join us and we'd help out whenever you wanted. Get you around people who actually appreciate what you do for them.”

But Danny was already shaking his head. “I have to stay here. And now Amity trusts heroes even less. I want to improve that, not make it worse.”

“Even if you don’t join,” declared Conner. “You’re not getting rid of us now.”

Bart nodded his agreement. “Yep. We’re gonna be stopping by all the time. You’re in the group chat.”

“Exactly,” agreed Tim. “And we’ll figure out ways to help you. Starting with how to minimize property damage. That seems to be the big thing people focus on. You can make shields, right? How big can you make them and how much power do they take?”

Danny smiled wryly. “Can’t say I’ve really tested it.”

Tim laughed. “Well, I know one thing we’re doing tonight. We’re going to go back to Nasty Burger—” Tim looked around at the whole group “—all of us. Then Cassie and Bart are going to go home. Danny and I, at least, are going to take a nap. Then we’re gonna test the current limits to Danny’s powers.”

Danny bumped their shoulders together. “You know, this is just like gaming with you all those years.”

“Yeah, well, it’s best to be thorough.”

“We’ve measured, like, his top speed and stuff,” said Tucker, pulling out a PDA. “Want to see what we’ve got so far?”

“Absolutely.” Tim took the device and looked through it. “You’ve a decent amount of information here. Maybe instead of taking a nap, I’ll help you organize it and come up with a testing plan.”

Conner flew over to him and pulled the PDA out of his hand. “Not after pulling an all-nighter you won’t. We’re going to get some food, then the two of you are going to sleep for at least four hours.”

“I’ll set Jazz on you, too,” threatened Sam. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Tim pouted as the device was given back to Tucker. And grumbled more when Conner picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

“Come on, food time.”

“I am going to put kryptonite in your phone,” threatened Tim.

“Bingo!” shouted Cassie.

Danny laughed as he stood. “Does this mean I can join the next round?”

Tim scowled. “Traitors, all of you.”

-----

Next

And that's the end of this Arc! Arc 3 will pick up where the original fill did. (Only this time, Tim won't be the only DC character there to help Danny.)

I'd say something like I can't believe it's only been a year, but so much has happened to me in the last twelve months that it feels like a lifetime ago, to be honest. But it's been a good year and I'm glad this community has been part of it.

Please follow the subscription post if you want updates for when I start transferring this arc to AO3 or begin posting Arc 3.

[samsheughan]

Confession I guess?

I figured it's time I was honest with y'all. (below the cut; feel free to skip if it's not your preferred cuppa)

I know I don't owe anyone an explanation of any kind, but as I've always said and stood by, I hold what audience I have with the highest regard and respect and I feel y'all deserve more from me than just the occasional "thanks for reading!" you know?

That being said, I want to let everyone know that, it's official: I am writing an original novel that I do plan to have published as soon as possible. I am planning on this novel being a trilogy of sorts, so there will be multiple books coming from me! :D

I have been writing fanfiction since I was 12 years old. What started on a floppy disk has flourished into a passion that I will always be proud of and grateful for. Writing fanfiction has spared my life more than once, and in the process of writing fanfiction, I have made friends that I know I will have for the rest of my life. I am so SO so grateful to y'all.

However, as time has gone on, and especially in the last few years or so, writing fanfiction felt more like an obligation rather than the hobby it's supposed to be. And that's no fun. But trying to bridge the gap between fanfiction and actual fiction (aka, the kind you can get paid for) has also been a struggle. I had a hard time trying to detach the ideas I had for fics from their respective fandoms and convert them into something that could be an original novel.

I have tried to adapt some of my more popular fanfiction stories into original ones, but a lot of the fandoms I've been in just don't make that an easy prospect (even my Modern AUs are hard to adapt since what makes them Modern AUs is deeply embedded in their respective fandom). But lately, the fog from that cloud seems to have lifted, and I am currently working on the manuscript for my very first novel!

All that aside, you might be wondering: "but Liz! You promised us you'd finished your fic! You promised, you promised, you promised!!" And you're right. I did promise. A promise I still intend to fulfill. I am a woman of my word. Sutures will be finished.

Someday.

But the timeline for that finale is now offcially on an indefinite hiatus. I could wake up tomorrow morning and finish it all and then post it that evening. Or it could be 10 years before I'm able to get back to it. Who can say? I sure as hell cannot. And while I hope I won't have to make y'all wait that long, like Claire, I have a glass face and cannot lie. But I also have to live in reality: I am my family's primary breadwinner. We are all disabled in some form and I am no longer capable of working outside our home. Wolf hasn't been for some time, so us staying home with The Pup just makes more sense now that we have officially pulled him from public school to homeschool him ourselves. Doing something working from home is now my chief focus, and I have to do what I need to do to facilitate that. We are good for the time being though (so much so that I closed the gfm I started a few months ago, so thank you to everyone who helped us out in our time of need 💜)

It has been a lifelong dream of mine to become a published author. A writer of love stories, in every romance genre I can get my wee fingers on! xD I am now in a position to chase that exact dream, and I cannot wait to be able to share what I've been doing!

To the Outlander fandom: my heart is yours from the moment I saw y'all. You've held my spirit with your two hands, and kept it safe (hey, jammf would be proud of me for channeling him here, be quiet :P) I have had many ups and downs with fandoms but I am eternally grateful for the love and appreciation this fandom has showered me with and I hope y'all will continue to stick around to see what else I got up my sleeve!

Stay tuned! Good shit is coming xx

[austinshotbutlers]

The Wedding Date - Part Five

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner × Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: Your sister's wedding is approaching fast and the thought of showing your boyfriend off to you family and your ex-boyfriend seems like a very appealing idea. The only problem is... you don't have a boyfriend. Luckily your stony faced, serious, sexy boss has agreed to be your fake boyfriend for the weekend. What could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.3K

TW: Mentions of cheating, swear words, mentions of sex.

A/N: I’M BACK BABIES!!!! Thank you so much for waiting and being patient with me🫶🏻 So… here is party five. I’m planning on there being six parts, once part six is posted I’m going to make another social media edit to accompany the fic. Also considering writing a prologue/prequel and an epilogue… would you guys like that??

“Today is the day.” You sighed into Aaron’s chest as you nuzzled closer into his warm embrace. It was early and you could already hear the chaos of the day echoing up the stairs to you room. The shrill voices of your mom and Sarah sent shivers through your body as memories of last night’s drama glazed through your head. Aaron wrapped his arms tighter around you and rubbed light, comforting circles on your arm with his thumb.

“We get through today and then we fly home tomorrow night.” Aaron murmured against the top of your head.

“Am I crazy if I say I’ve actually missed the BAU?” You asked and Aaron laughed lightly.

Suddenly, a loud knock echoed from your bedroom door, closely followed by your mom’s voice.

“I hope you two are up and getting ready. There’s breakfast set up in the kitchen!” She called cheerily followed by the sound of her feet descending down the stairs.

“I’ll get in the shower quickly and then should we go downstairs for breakfast?” Aaron suggested.

“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled and tilted your head up so you could place a light peck on his jaw. Aaron smiled and swiftly climbed out of bed, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips before making his way to the bathroom.

You got out of bed yourself and pulled on one of Aaron’s jumpers before the buzz of your phone caught your attention. You quickly picked it up and glanced at the screen. 3 missed calls and 8 texts from Emily. How on earth did you miss them? As soon as you heard the running water coming from Aaron’s shower, you immediately called her. She answered almost instantly.

“Hello?” You said.

“Oh my god! Where have you been? It’s been 2 days and I’ve heard nothing from you!” Emily shouted exasperatedly down the phone.

“I know! I’m so sorry! The last few days have been… a lot to say the least.” You replied.

“What’s been going on? Have you and Hotch been having insane, crazy-hot, lust-filled sex for two days straight? Is that why you haven’t been replying to my texts or answering my calls?” Emily asked.

“Emily!” You hissed.

“That wasn’t a no… oh my god you slept together!” She exclaimed matter-of-factly. “Was it good? Wait, I don’t know if I want to know that… oh what the hell, what was it like?” The questions came flooding out of her life a waterfall.

“Ok! We had sex but that’s all I’m telling you!” You replied frustratedly.

“I knew it! I knew you two would do it! Please just describe it in three words.” Emily pleaded down the phone.

“Fine! Best. Sex. Ever.” You said and Emily squealed excitedly in response.

“So are you and Hotch officially a couple now or?…” Emily asked and it caused you to stop and think. With the trip coming to an end, were you two now a couple? Both of you had declared your love for one another so surely that counted as some sort of idea where your relationship status sat?

“We haven’t put any labels on it yet but we have been very open with our feelings.” You explained.

“Well, tell Hotch that if he doesn’t make it official with you by the time you’re back in DC, I’ll be having words with him.” She said. “I’m putting money on the two of you being married by next year.”

“Oh my god Emily!” You laughed. “Slow down! We haven’t even really discussed telling the team about this.”

You were then suddenly aware of the absent sound of running water, realising Aaron was no longer in the shower.

“Look Em, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow?” You said.

“Will you actually answer my calls this…” you hung up before Emily could finish her sentence just as Hotch stepped out the bathroom, his towel wrapped around his hips and water trickling down his chest. You took your lip between your teeth, taking in Aaron’s torso as though it was the first time seeing it.

“Enjoying yourself?” Aaron’s chuckle drew you from your thoughts.

“Sorry!” You blurted out, turning around and throwing your phone on the cabinet. “You’re just hard not to admire.”

“Same could be said about you.” He smiled boyishly. “You look beautiful.”

“Stop talking shit Hotchner!” You laughed, throwing a pillow at him which he managed to catch with one hand, the other keeping the towel wrapped firmly around his hips.

“You look cute in my jumper.” He laughed. “I’m actually finding it hard not to come over and rip it off you.”

“Aaron! As much as I would like us to, we do not have time for sex right now!” You scolded him lightheartedly and he chuckled. “Get dressed and we’ll go get some breakfast.

As soon as Aaron was dressed, you both headed downstairs and were met by what looked like the entire bridal party.

“Jesus Christ.” You mumbled to Aaron as the two of you looked at the several bridesmaids all fussing around Sarah as she sat on a chair having her hair done, occasionally taking a bite of fruit.

“Good! You’re both here. Help yourself to breakfast!” Your mom ushered you in and handed you plates. You scooped up some fruit and pastries. You looked around for somewhere to sit and decided to settle on a stool at the kitchen island next to Liv who was already in her bridesmaid dress and sipping on a large mimosa.

“A little early don’t you think?” You joked.

“Of course not! There’s a wedding to celebrate.” She said in an attempt to mimic your mom before pouring you your own glass of champagne. “Drink!”

You clinked you glass with hers and took a large sip just as Aaron came and sat next to you.

“Would you like a mimosa Aaron? Or would you like something stronger?” Liv asked him.

“No, I’m fine thank you Liv.” He smiled.

“I never got a chance to thank you last night for punching Luke.” She continued and you smiled into your champagne flute. “It truly brought me so much joy.”

Aaron laughed nervously. “While it did feel right, it probably wasn’t one of my smarter ideas.”

“Oh no trust me honey,” you smiled. “It was one of the smartest ideas you’ve ever had.” And Liv nodded her head in agreement.

Aaron opened his mouth to reply but a stern voice caught all three of your attention.

“Y/N.” Sarah said, her hair and makeup all finished now. “Can we please talk?”

You nodded and the two of you walked into the study down the hall.

“What did you want to talk about?” You asked as soon as Sarah shut the door behind her.

“I want to accept your apology for last night.” Sarah said and you had to stop yourself from laughing.

“Are you serious? I have nothing to apologise for. Luke got what was coming to him. He’s a fucking ass.” You reply trying to keep your frustrations at bay.

“You two have been over for nearly two years now. Just get over it and move on.” Sarah replied angrily. “Luke is actually trying to make an effort to be nice and civil with you and you’re just so rude to him.”

You laughed loudly at her preposterous suggestion. “Funnily enough, calling me a slut doesn’t exactly scream being nice and civil.”

“You’re going to ruin my wedding.” She replied, tears threatening to spill from Sarah’s eyes. “Just be a good maid of honour and behave yourself.

“Behave myself? What am I? A disobedient dog?” You were angry now. “Fine! I’ll play all happy for now but if one thing happens with Luke, I don’t care anymore, I’ll punch him again myself and hope this time his nose does actually break!” And with that, you threw the study door open and strode out down the hall, back to the kitchen.

As soon as you appeared back in the kitchen, Aaron knew something was wrong. He excused himself from where he was stuck in a conversation with Liv and some other bridesmaids and made his way over to you.

“Are you ok?” Aaron asked as he placed a hand on your hip.

“Let’s just go upstairs and get ready.” You said, the feeling of Aaron’s hand on your hip helping you relax ever so slightly.

***

“Ok, how do I look?” You asked Aaron, stepping out of the bathroom to show him your bridesmaid dress. It was a gorgeous lilac satin that hugged your figure perfectly. “Sarah may be psychotic but I commend her for her choice of dress.”

Aaron looked up from where he was sitting on the bed. He had been ready for a while now but had no complaints after he saw you. He was utterly speechless. He thought nothing could top the green dress you wore last night but god, was he wrong.

“Do I look ok? Your silence is worrying me.” You laughed nervously.

“You look…” Aaron stood up and walked over to you, completely in awe of your appearance. “You look incredible.” A kiss on your lips. “Ethereal.” A kiss on your jaw. “Fucking beautiful.” A kiss down your neck.

Heat rose to your cheeks at Aaron’s words and you giggled as he continued to kiss and nibble at your neck.

“I need you.” Aaron groaned against your skin. “This dress is… hypnotic. You have me completely under your spell.”

You moaned quietly as he nipped some skin at the base of your neck. “Aaron…”

“Y/N?…” He imitated.

“We… need to go.” You gasped as Aaron raked his hand over your ass and up your back.

“I know…” he mumbled before pulling away and looking at you, his dark, lust-filled eyes locking onto yours. You leaned up and kissed him once more before walking to fetch your heels. “Such a tease.” Aaron chuckled as he watched you go and straightened his tie.

You smirked to yourself, you had no idea the bridesmaid’s dress was going to have such an effect on him. You were going to have fun with him at the wedding.

When you walked downstairs, Aaron’s hand placed at the small of your back to keep you balanced, gasps erupted and you looked up to see your mom, dad and Liv.

“No sorry! You have to take that dress of right now.” Liv said with a pout. “Because you look way hotter than me in it!” She laughed and you jokingly rolled your eyes.

“Let me get a picture of you two!” Your mom said excitedly, reaching for her camera and snapping you and Liv stood together in the hallway.

“Is bridezilla ready yet?” You asked which made Liv laugh and your mom throw you an annoyed look.

“Your sister is just having some photos taken by the photographer in the garden. You two will be needed soon for the bridesmaid’s shots.” Your mom explained.

“Have you seen Sarah yet dad?” You asked.

“Yes I have. She looks beautiful. Can’t believe my youngest girl is getting married.” He chuckled and you laughed along falsely and reached for one of the many champagne flutes scattered around the house, knocking it back.

“Y/N! Liv! We need you for photos.” One of the other bridesmaids, Lucy, called.

You walked outside and that was when you saw Sarah in her wedding dress. It was gorgeous with the most beautiful train and veil.

“Quick guys! We need to leave very soon.” Sarah called.

“Where’s the maid of honour?” The photographer asked and you awkwardly raised your hand. “Perfect, can you stand on the right side of the bride please?” And you took your place.

Sarah smiled at you. “You look beautiful sissy.”

You smiled at the nickname the two of you used when you were younger. “Thank you. You look gorgeous. Thomas is going to cry when he sees you.”

“You really think?” She asked with tears in her own eyes and you nodded.

The photographer quickly snapped some pictures of just the two of you together before taking several shots of the whole bridal party and some of Sarah with your parents. As soon as all photographs had been taken, it was time to head to the wedding venue.

***

Chaos. An hour until Sarah was to walk down the aisle and the rings had been misplaced. Sarah was on the verge of tears while your mom comforted her and everyone frantically searched for where the rings could have disappeared to. You had looked everywhere with absolutely no luck.

“What if they were left at home?” You asked.

“No! I definitely had them packed up in one of the boxes ready to come here.” Sarah said frustratedly. “Can you go and check with Luke? He might know where they are.

“Can’t someone else?’ You asked which in turn resulted in harsh glares from Sarah and your mom. “Fine! I’ll go and find him.” You said exasperatedly, rolling your eyes.

You left the room, closing the door behind you and saw Aaron down the hall on the phone to someone. As soon as he saw you, he said bye to whoever he was talking to and came over to you.

“Sorry, that was Dave. Just filling me in on the case the team are taking. You ok?” He asked.

“No… the wedding rings have gone missing so as my role as maid of honour, I am being forced to find them.” You sighed. “I just want the ground to swallow me up because now I have to go and find Luke to ask him if he knows where they are.”

“I’ll come with you?” He offered.

“No, it’s fine. I think I’ll survive.” You smiled and leaned up to place a peck on his lips. “I will see you in a minute.” And you headed to the other side of the building to where Luke would be.

“Sorry Matthew,” you tapped Thomas’ dad on the shoulder. “Have you seen Luke? I need to speak with him.”

“He should be just down the hall.” He slurred and you could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Just as long as you don’t punch him again!” He joked and you awkwardly laughed.

You rushed down the hall and saw Luke standing outside, taking a drag on a cigarette.

“Luke!” You called and he turned to you, quickly throwing his cigarette on the floor and stepping on it.

“What?” He asked abruptly and you took in his appearance. A cut across his nose and a slightly bruised eye. “That asshole boyfriend with you?”

“Aaron is here but he doesn’t feel the need to accompany me everywhere.” You rolled your eyes. “The rings are missing. Sarah wants to know if you knew where they were?”

“Yeah. They’re here.” And he fished into his suit pocket, pulling out two silver bands.

You snatched them from his fingers, frustration brewing. “For god’s sake! We have been looking everywhere for them. Why did you think it was a good idea to have them in your pocket?”

“Jesus Christ, chill!” Luke said defensively. “I didn’t know what was happening with them.”

“Well then you should have left them alone! You’re not the one who had to deal with a crying Sarah.” You replied. “Lucy’s daughter is bringing them down the aisle. I thought being the best man, you would have known that.”

“Fucking hell, do you always have to be so uptight about everything? You wonder why I dumped you!” He exclaimed and you sighed turning around to walk away. “At least with your sister knows how to have a good time. She was better in bed anyway.” And almost instantly, he realised what he had said and fear filled his eyes.

Your steps faltered at his words. You couldn’t move. Did Luke really just admit to sleeping with your sister? You turned slowly back around to face him and saw the worry in his eyes. All body function froze as you struggled to find the words to say.

“You… you slept with my sister?” You finally managed to ask. “When?… Why?…”

“It was… it was a month before we broke up.” Luke mumbled. “God, I didn’t want you to find out like this… I thought Sarah was going to tell you.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, tears began to cloud your vision as you took the information in.

“I mean, we knew it was wrong but we just couldn’t stay away from each other,” Luke continued. “And then after a month of sleeping together, I knew I had to end it with you. We carried on together well after you left but then she started dating Tom and she ended it.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Luke cheated on you with your sister… who the fuck does that?

“I… I have to go.” You muttered and quickly bolted down the hallway. So many thoughts flooded your head and you tried your best to stop the tears from spilling from your eyes. As you turned the corner you walked straight into someone who immediately grabbed you to keep you steady in your ridiculously high heels. You looked up and were met with the familiar face of Aaron. He immediately noticed the tears in your eyes and his eyes filled with concern. You threw your arms around him and buried your face in his neck, breathing in his cologne.

“Honey?… What’s wrong?” He asked worriedly. “Did something happen?”

“I’m trying so hard not to cry.” You croaked out. “It’s just… I don’t even know what to say.”

Aaron pulled away from your embrace and looked at your flushed face. “You’re worrying me Y/N,” he said with a frown. “What happened?”

You collected your thoughts and took a deep breath in before looking into Aaron’s eyes.

“Just hold me.” You muttered and Aaron pulled you close to his chest again, holding you in a tight hug and stroking your hair in an attempt to comfort you. You stayed like that for a few minutes and soon the shock of Luke’s revelation had worn off. Aaron pulled back and looked down at you, hoping you were going to tell him what had happened.

“What happened Y/N?” Aaron asked again.

You looked up at him and took a deep breath. “I found the rings, Luke did have them.”

“Ok… that’s good.” Aaron replied nonchalantly but was desperate to find out what head caused you to become so upset.

“I also found out that…” you took a deep breath. “Sarah and Luke had also been sleeping together… while we were still together.”

Aaron was left speechless. He thought he couldn’t despise Luke anymore but god he was wrong. He looked in your eyes and noticed that you were no longer upset but were now… actually, he had no idea how you were feeling.

“Y/N?” Aaron asked in an attempt to understand your emotions.

You looked up at Aaron and then back at the room Sarah was currently getting ready in before the built up anger of the weekend spilled out of you.

“Sarah had given my nothing but shit the whole time we’ve been here.” You began and Aaron took ahold of your hand to try and calm you down but he knew you had every right to be annoyed. “I have worked my ass off to try and appease her and get on with Luke and now it all makes sense. She didn’t want me to find out that she had been fucking him right under my nose!”

Before Aaron could even open his mouth to reply, you had pulled away from him and was walking towards where Sarah was. You threw the door open and Sarah immediately looked up with a hopeful smile.

“Did you find the rings?” She asked.

“Yeah I did.” You smiled falsely and began to walk into the room. “You know what I also found?”

Sarah shook her head while excitedly talking the wedding rings from your hand. “What?”

“I also found out that you and Luke were sleeping together behind my back.” And Sarah’s head quickly snapped up to look at you, panic completely filling her face.

“Y/N… it’s not what you th…” she paused as she realised there was no saving herself. “I’m sorry! I wanted to tell you, I really did! I just could never find the right time and then I started dating Tom and I thought it was best to just pretend it never happened.”

“Does Tom know?” You asked.

“I was going to tell him after the wedding.” Sarah mumbled.

“That’s a great idea.” You laughed. “Tell him you repeatedly fucked his best friend right after you married him.”

“Please Y/N… can we just leave this until after the wedding?” Sarah begged.

“You are unbelievable!” You exclaimed. “Tom deserves to know.”

“I deserve to know what?” Tom asked as Luke guided him into the room. His eyes were covered with a silk eye mask.

“Wait, what is happening?” You ask confused.

“Sorry baby, are you not ready yet for our first look?�� Tom asked waving his arms in front of him in an attempt to grab Sarah’s arms.

“No I am ready, Y/N was just leaving.” Sarah huffed.

“Nope, I’m staying right here.” You said, taking a seat on the cushioned chair. Sarah glared at you while Luke attempted to leave the room. “Sarah actually has something to tell you Tom, don’t you sissy?” You condescendingly used the childhood nickname, the same nickname that had you wanting to be the perfect big sister and mid of honour mere hours ago,

“Oh my god… honey, are you pregnant?” Tom asked excitedly.

“No I…” Sarah’s breath hitched and for a split second, you regret making her do this. She lifted her hands up and gently removed the eye mask from his face and Tom’s face lit up when he saw Sarah in her wedding dress.

“Oh Sarah baby, you look gorgeous.” He beamed but his face dropped when he saw Sarah’s glum face. “Wh… what’s wrong?”

“I was sleeping with Luke.” Sarah said bluntly. “Just before we started dating but I ended it when we made it official.”

Tom froze, he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

“Please say something Tom. I’m sorry I never told you sooner.” Sarah said, tears filling her eyes.

“So… you were sleeping with Luke while he was dating your sister?” Tom asked. “How long has Y/N known?”

“Since 10 minutes ago.” You muttered and looked back at where Luke was standing at the doorway, a panicked look on his face.

“Tom I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now,” Sarah repeated. “We can move on from this, be stronger as a couple.”

“Sarah I just need… a minute.” Tom sighed and quickly exited the room, Luke following him trying to offer apologies.

You turned to look at Sarah, her eyes filled with tears as she threw herself down on a chair.

“He’s not going to marry me.” She muttered. “Why did you force me to tell him?”

“Sarah… he had a right to know. Would you rather he found out from you or a drunken slip from Luke?” You asked.

“Just leave me alone! You really are the worst maid of honour and the worst sister.” Sarah shouted.

You stood up and quickly left Sarah to be by herself. Upon exiting the room, you saw Aaron and quickly walked up to him. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your head into his chest.

“Ok so… I’m the worst sister ever apparently.” You spoke into his chest.

“No you’re not,” Aaron mumbled into your hair. “She’s just angry you found out this way, you had every right to react the way you did.”

“But what if Tom calls off the wedding?” You asked, pulling back to look at Aaron. “Then Sarah really will hate me for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t worry about it, let’s go get some air, you need it.” Aaron said, intertwining your fingers together and guiding you towards the door. Once outside, you took in a deep breath and was thankful for the fresh air – the stuffiness and tension inside was suffocating. After a few minutes off a comfortable silence between the two of you, Aaron placed his arm around your shoulders and leaned down to place a kiss at his temple.

“Everything is going to be ok you know?” He said.

“How can you be so sure?” You questioned with a sigh.

“Because I’m a profiler.” He said and your rolled your eyes. “And I can see Tom coming back.” You suddenly snapped your head in the direction Aaron was looking and sure enough, Tom was striding towards you and Aaron, a determined look on his face.

“Is Sarah still inside?” He asked once he reached you.

You nodded.

“Thanks…” Tom said and then walked towards the entrance.

“I told you everything was going to be ok … I’m an excellent profiler.” Aaron turned to you with a smile.

You tried your best to fight the smile and jokingly punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t jinx it, we don’t know what he’s saying to Sarah yet!”

“Stop being such a pessimist!” Aaron scolded jokingly, trying to lift your mood. “Come on, lets go inside and see if we can find out whats going on.” And the two of you walked back inside, hand in hand, ready to face whatever was coming… together.

***

The Wedding Date Taglist 1/2: @wanniiieeee @notsopersonalcharlie @blackeyedangel9805 @preciousbabypeter @stxlemate @twilightlover2007 @justarandommom @impala1967dwinchester @spencermiromantiko @julyhoney @thecubanator2 @xphantomphanphanaticx @lawlesshedgehog @louderfortheback @ssamorganhotchner @essenceproxima @lespendy @stiles-argent24 @rousethemouse @tvdstelenaforever @wandererseye @bibella8swan @yourfavunsub @bibimangines @lou-the-confused-bisexual @realm8626 @sophiaj650 @bylones @howabouticallyou @madz-19 @hotchnerxo @supercriminalbean @jayxox @sweetpeterparker @mina2000alex @xoxokiwi @rayofeffingsunshine @helmihotchner @pedrohoe04 @blackqueenie-18 @crocodilefeet2707 @mynotesapptbh @cryingraccoonn @victoriaholland @1d-obssesed @jemssafespace @red-red-rogue @fandomalert31 @valentinaromanoff @smad809 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @tim-thefrog @mojo366 @jazzymariexoxoc @dankfarrick29 @gffesegjoiegi @fuckthealarm @users09 @8crazy-freak8 @jazzerbelle14 @vsophb

[stellamancer]

pairing: fem!reader x merman!satoru gojo

summary: you were excited to return home for the summer, but all that excitement is quickly thrown out the window and you nearly resign yourself to a quiet and lonely summer.

the insufferable merman you rescued, however, has other plans.

contents: degrees of social anxiety from the reader, fem!reader (no pronouns used, reader is referred to as physically smaller than gojo) 

notes: uh. this was written for the teahouse mermay collab! but, uh, gonna probably spend the summer writing this because somehow plot happened. will happen. this work will end up being a roommates to friends to maybe lovers fic so please look forward to it. uh. not sure what else to say. i usually don’t post multi-part fics to tumblr, but since i don’t expect this fic to get too long i figured it would be okay this time around lmao. i expect to eat my words. anyway this fic can also be found on ao3!  

word count: 4.3k

masterlist 

It’s the first time you’ve been home in a while, and honestly speaking, you don’t know how you feel about it.

At first, you were excited. As much as you enjoyed city life in Tokyo, you still missed your little seaside hometown. It was your parents’ idea to come home to visit, not so much because they missed you too, but because they wanted you to watch the house while they went on a summer long trek across Europe. As luck would have it, the time of their departure coincided with the expiration of your apartment’s lease. With no intent on renewing it, you figured you might as well return home for the summer and save a little bit on rent before moving into your new place.

Once your plans were settled, you’d texted your best friend, Minori, to let her know you were coming back, but… there was something a little off about her response. It’s not like you were expecting her to drop everything at the news of your homecoming, but you thought she’d at least be a little more excited. It did bother you a bit, but you merely chalked it up to being absolutely horrendous about keeping in touch while you were away. You’re almost positive that once you see each other it’ll be like you never even left.

Besides, if she really felt that awkward about seeing you, then she wouldn’t have agreed to hang out tomorrow.

Nor would she have forgotten to mention that there was a big hangout thing that was happening at the beach tonight.

Probably anyway.

It’d been one of your old high school classmates Kyohei Shinomiya who had mentioned the beach thing. You’d run into him working at the grocery store and while you really wouldn’t have considered Shinomiya a close friend, you were acquainted enough to chat amicably as he rang up your things. Most people you’d run into upon your return had asked about your life in Tokyo, but Shinomiya was oddly excited to hear about it. You’d gotten the feeling that not much had changed in your absence— but was the city really all that interesting? Shinomiya looked almost disappointed when all your things were bagged up, his face twisted almost as if he was debating something serious. Just as you were about to walk out the door he spoke up, and you realized that was what he’d been contemplating on all along.

“Are you gonna be at the hangout tonight?”

You’d tilted your head in confusion. “Hangout?”

“Yeah! On the beach at sunset!” He’d answered, his enthusiasm renewed. “If… if you’re not doing anything, then you should totally come by! Everyone from high school will be there!”

You’d immediately thought of Minori. She hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort. Had it slipped her mind? Or maybe she forgot? Either way, with no one waiting for you at home, and no other plans to speak of, your night was woefully free.

So, of course you showed up.

Shinomiya hadn’t been kidding when he said that everyone from high school would be here. You recognize basically every person on some level— not just people in your own year, but upperclassmen and underclassmen as well. Some of them recognize you too, a few of them even stop to chat a little, politely asking where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to, just like everyone else. Once you’ve made a lap around the group, you awkwardly park yourself near the barbeque where one of the upperclassmen is grilling skewers for everyone, unsure of where else to go.

Of all the people you’ve seen, Minori is not among them. Is it possible that maybe she wasn’t invited? You’ve seen some of her other friends here, though, so it wouldn’t make sense to leave her out. You start to reach for your phone to message her to ask if she knows, if she’s coming. Given how Shinomiya invited you, in the odd case she didn’t know, it probably wouldn’t be a problem if she showed up.

Probably.

Just as you start typing, you hear someone nearby yell. “About time you showed up! You’re late!”

You happen to look up to see who this latecomer is and it’s… Minori. But she’s not alone; at her side is someone else you recognize instantly: Hayato Tsuji. It’s been a while since you last saw him, but your heart stutters at the sight, your body remembering the feelings you harbored for him in your high school years. He’s grown even more handsome now; his features sharper and more mature now than when you were teenagers. Something about the two of them together nags at your mind, but you push the thought to the side, more relieved to see your friend here than anything.

Minori’s gaze moves from the person who called out to her, scanning the area before finally landing on you. There’s no missing the way her eyes widen in clear and obvious surprise, making it apparent that not telling you about this whole thing was a conscious choice on her part.

Still, she makes her way over to you, smiling sheepishly. her eyes now avoiding yours. “Hey! Didn’t expect to see you here."

"Shinomiya invited me," you explain almost flatly.

Minori hums as if you've said something very interesting. "Is that so…?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought you'd be doing something with your parents tonight," she offers, the reason of why she didn't tell you about this hangout threaded between her words.

"No, they left this morning."

"Oh."

You could have sworn you told her that, but maybe she got the day wrong or something. It’s no big deal; Minori was probably just trying to be considerate since it’s been a while since you’ve seen your parents, but still something feels… off. It’s fine. A little awkwardness is to be expected, you tell yourself.

“Minori!” Someone else calls and she whips her head around toward the voice to see who it is. You recognize it as one of her other friends, waving wildly to get her attention. Minori glances back at you, looking a little unsure.

“It’s fine,” you say, smiling, though it feels hollow. “We can catch up later. We’re hanging out tomorrow, aren’t we?”

She stares at you, the hesitation still flickering in her eyes before nodding. “Yeah.”

You wave her off as she heads toward the person calling her and you don’t miss how her expression looks considerably lighter as she walks off. Sighing, you turn back to the barbeque, thinking to busy yourself with some food. Will it be like that tomorrow? Awkward? Weird?

You shake your head. It’ll be fine.

“Skewer?” the upperclassman manning the grill offers you one, and though you thought to occupy your anxious hands by eating you find that you actually don’t feel all that hungry.

“No thanks,” you tell him, smiling apologetically. He doesn’t seem to take any offense, though, and nods. You move away from the barbeque so that you’re not in the way of anyone who might actually want to eat, but once again you’re not sure where to go. You feel like finding Minori again is out of the question, the earlier weirdness repelling you. Maybe Shinomiya then?

You make your way around and spot Shinomiya joking with some underclassmen, laughing jovially. Should you approach? You don’t want to interrupt anything though, so you lurk off to the side, teetering back and forth on your feet. Maybe you can come back later when there’s a lull in the conversation or something.

The only other person you can think of seeking out is… Hayato. Your heart skips a beat at the thought. You can’t say you’re friends but you’d talked a few times in high school, even worked on a few group projects together. It wouldn’t be all that weird to say hi, would it?

You look around again, your eyes straining to pick him out in the crowd. While you look, your thoughts get ahead of you. He was just a high school crush, but wouldn’t it just be something, if you guys ended up talking and it just… picked up from there? Reconnecting with something akin to an old flame and things developing into something more over the course of one fateful summer… You’re sure you’ve read a story like that somewhere before and the sheer possibility of fiction becoming reality makes your heartbeat accelerate in your chest.

When you find Hayato, your entire body goes still, nerves seizing control of your motor functions. It's fine, it's cool, you try to tell yourself. You are just saying hi. You can do that. You can say hi.

And if it goes beyond that… you’ll figure it out later.

You take a deep breath and take a step forward toward Hayato, then another, then… You stop short— breath catching in your chest when you notice, when you see.  

There's someone standing next to Hayato, leaning intimately into him while his arm slung snuggly over their shoulder. You know them— recognize them, because there's no way you wouldn't. There's no way you wouldn't recognize your best friend.

It shouldn't surprise you, it really shouldn't . After all, they showed up here together, you saw them show up together and yet…

You feel absolutely gutted. Questions race through your mind. How long has Minori liked Hayato? Why didn’t she tell you? Are they dating already? For how long? Why didn’t she tell you?

Why didn’t she tell you?

Minori says something to whoever she’s talking to and laughs. Hayato leans his head down to whisper something in her ear and she blushes and swats at him, embarrassed, but still with a fond smile plastered to her face. You feel like you’re a whole world away— an outsider peering in. The contents of your stomach are flipping like they’re competing in the Olympics and you realize that you’re very, very glad you didn’t accept that skewer.

Eventually, you turn away, even though you really just want to walk over there and find out for yourself what exactly is going on. The last thing you want is to start a scene though. You can just ask Minori what’s going on tomorrow; find out if this is why she’s been acting weird. She knew you had a crush on Hayato, and even though he’s still really handsome now, that was in high school. If they're dating now, it’s not like you’d hold it against her.

You start to walk off, but you bump into someone instead.

“Oh hey!”

It’s Shinomiya.

You look at him and catch his expression shift, from a smile to something of a concerned frown.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Oh, uh.” Your shock must show on your face. You try to smile, but it feels far too strained to be convincing. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t believe you.

“I’m, uh… gonna… go over there.” You feel so awkward that you want to disintegrate.

Shinomiya’s mouth opens slightly, brows furrowed, looking like he’s struggling to say something. “...do you want me to come with?”

You laugh in an attempt to alleviate his concern, but the sound is mechanical, fake. “Nah, I’m fine.”

Shinomiya doesn’t seem convinced, his mouth set in a frown. His expression is contemplative again, like it was when you were at the store. You take a step back, away from him and wave him off a little.

“Really,” you say, before whatever he’s thinking about just spews out of his mouth. “Just… gonna take a little walk. The... smoke from the barbeque is getting to me.”

It sounds like an excuse, but it seems reasonable enough you think. Shinomiya still seems doubtful, but he doesn’t press the issue as you take another step away from him. You give him one more smile, this one feeling  a little more natural, to reassure him that you’re fine.

Because you are.

No one else seems to notice as you slip away from the group, heading toward the shoreline. The tide ebbs back and forth, the water coming up to gently lap at the soles of your shoes. You stare out at the sea, the sun nearly set over the horizon, dyeing the sky in oranges and purples. Some of the people at the hangout are probably setting up a bonfire or two so that the get together can continue into the night. You could probably go help out to keep your hands busy, but you don’t particularly feel like it.

Instead, you continue walking down the beach, further away from the chatter of all the people you grew up with, their conversations sounding more and more like a foreign language with each step. Even when you were younger, when you still lived here, you could never slot yourself perfectly among your peers. Minori was the only one who really felt like a friend to you, so her silence weighs heavy on your heart. If you had done a better job at keeping in touch with her, then would she have been more forthcoming about what was going on in her life? At the same time, it’s not like she was any better at keeping in contact with you, but…

You sigh. You’ll talk to her tomorrow. There’s no need to keep mulling over it now.

The sun has completely set now and you realize you’ve actually walked quite a distance from the hangout spot on the beach; you can’t even see anyone anymore. In fact, you’re actually probably only a few minutes from your parent’s house now, their home almost practically on the beach itself. You’re just better off going home, rather than going back. It does feel a little bit bad to have left without saying anything though, so you pull out your phone and send off a quick message to Shinomiya apologizing for leaving without saying anything and thanking him for inviting you in the first place.

You turn, with the intent of heading home, but something on the beach catches your eye.

Something unnaturally shiny.

People are generally pretty good about picking up their trash when they’re on the beach; it's a rule, after all. Sometimes, though, there are some people who forget, or just don’t care. As you approach, you figure whoever left this mound of garbage on the shore is part of the latter group, simply not caring enough to pick up after themselves.

But someone cared enough to cover it up in sand and seaweed.

You lean over, prepared to dig out whatever can and other trash has been buried when you notice, when you see.

It’s not a beer can that’s half buried here.

It’s some kind of fish and it’s huge.

You’ve heard of the very, very rare instances of beached whales, but this thing has scales, shiny, pretty iridescent scales that remind you of opals and you wonder distantly if there’s a fish this big, this pretty, really out there. More than that, though, you wonder how in the world it ended up on the beach like this. When you’ve finally cleared everything away, you realize that this thing isn’t a fish.

It’s a person.  

Or half of one at least.

You gawk at the sight, your eyes traveling down the length of their body. From the waist down, they’re all fish, tail and fins and all, but from the waist up they look like a man, with arms, and a torso and a human head.

Merman.

The word echoes in your mind over and over. You shake your head. This has to be a dream. There’s no way. Merpeople aren’t real. If they were, surely there’d be some kind of record or something of them.

You raise a trembling hand, to confirm what you see with your own two eyes. Very, very quietly, you murmur an apology as your fingers reach out, brushing against this being’s waist, where their human skin meets their fish-like scales. Maybe it’s some kind of… swimsuit or something. You’ve seen stuff like that on TV. If that’s the case there should be some kind of waistband or something, but you find none. The junction between their human half and fish half is completely seamless.

The merman is real.

You gasp softly and look around. It’s only the two of you on the beach right now. What do you do? Should you just leave him here? In a few hours the tide will be high enough to pull the merman back into the water, but… what if someone comes between now and then? If they realize it’s a merman, there’s no guarantee that they’ll let him return to the sea. He could be sold off as a research subject or some kind of exotic pet. The thought disgusts you. Shouldn’t you put him back then? Make sure that he returns to where he belongs? He seems to be unconscious though, but surely he can breathe underwater while sleeping, right? You have absolutely no idea how it works.

The merman groans beneath you and you look back at him. His face is scrunched up like he’s in some kind of pain. Is he hurt, maybe? Is that how he ended up on the beach? Using your phone’s flashlight, you check his body, trying to find some kind of injury, but you don’t find anything. Could he be sick or something then?

You reach up toward his head, brushing some of the snow white hair sticking to his forehead out of the way before you press the back of your hand to his skin. It’s slightly warm to the touch, so he probably doesn’t have a fever.

Wait. Can merfolk even get fevers?

Is he maybe having a bad dream then? Or is he uncomfortable? You don’t know. You could try to wake him up, but if he’s in pain wouldn’t that make it worse?

The panic is starting to settle in your nerves. What do you do? You've never encountered anything like this before. Do you attend to him as if he were an animal? Or as if he were human? You start to reach for your phone to call someone for help, for advice but—

Who could you possibly call?

Your parents are on an airplane right now, hundreds of kilometers in the air and out of reach. You couldn’t possibly bother Shinomiya with this and Minori— The image of her laughing amongst her other friends, Hayato snuggling up next to her flashes in your mind, sudden and almost disorienting. Something ugly and frustrating wells up in your stomach at the thought but you do your best to dismiss it.

You can’t bother her with this either.

You’re all you’ve got right now.

With that thought in mind, you force yourself to take a deep, deep breath. Before you can do anything else, you need to calm down. Once the anxiety has dislodged itself from your chest, you go over the options once more. You can’t leave him here because someone else with far worse intentions than you might find him. You can’t toss him back in the ocean because there’s no guarantee that he’ll be okay if you do that. Then what else can you do?

Take him somewhere else? You glance down at the merman; his body is longer than you are tall and you’re sure that he probably weighs a ton. You wouldn’t be able to take him very far on your own, so if you take him somewhere it has to be close.

A lightbulb goes off in your head. It seems kind of crazy, but you could take him home; a year or two ago your parents renovated the bathroom so now the tub is disgustingly huge. You think it’s big enough to house this monster of a merman until you can ensure that you can return him to the sea without the fear that he might get eaten by a shark or something.

Now the question is… how do you transport him? If you had a wheelbarrow or some kind of cart then you could put him in it and just wheel him to your parents house, but…

A particularly large wave crashes against the beach and another lightbulb goes off. Your father has a really big longboard he used to use when he was a teen. Maybe you could roll the merman onto it and pull it kind of like a sled?

The idea sounds absolutely insane, but you can’t think of anything else. If it doesn’t work… Well, you’ll figure it out later.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell the sleeping merman before bolting off toward your parents’ house. You get there in almost no time flat and easily locate the longboard, tucked away in a storage room. The board’s leg rope probably won’t be able to support the merman’s weight so you grab some regular rope your father has in the storage and wedge it in with the leg rope, using it to secure the rope to the board. When you’re satisfied with it, you dash back to the beach.

The merman is luckily where you left him, unconscious and undisturbed. You toss the longboard onto the sand next to him, shoving it as close to him as you can before bending over and rolling him face up onto the board, taking great care to make sure his entire tail is on.

Like this you’re able to get a better look at his face and— he’s handsome, breathtakingly so. The sharpness of his jaw, the angle of his nose, the width of his shoulders, his collarbone, the sight of them all assembled together like this ups your pulse a bit.

You’re getting distracted.

With the merman in place, you grab the rope and start to tug your makeshift sled toward your parents’ house but, god, he’s heavy. You don’t get very far before you stop to take a break, your arms and shoulders screaming. A different tactic would probably be better. You move to the other end of the board and bend down, gripping both sides of the long board as you push.

This method works much, much better until you get to the house itself. You knew the board would only get you so far, but from here on out you’ll have to carry him. There’s no way a bridal carry will work, so you brace yourself, and after a fair bit of struggling you manage to sling this massive merman over your back.

Each step toward the bathroom is absolute agony and you’re so damn grateful that the house is only a single story. It feels like hours have passed when you finally get to the tub. You rip off the cover and toss it haphazardly to the side, but now you have a new problem: how do you get him in there like this?

You could attempt to shrug him in, but his weight combined with the fact you can’t see might result in him accidentally hitting his head on the wall or something. That wouldn’t be good. Instead, you step into the tub, nearly slipping as you step over the wall of it, but luckily you manage to keep yourself from falling. Then, slowly, you free one of your hands gripping the merman’s body to reach down and tuck his tail into the tub.

He weighs too much for your one hand to handle and this time you lose your balance.

Both you and the merman tumble backwards into the tub. You manage to angle your legs out of the way of the faucet and land against the merman’s body with a thud, the hand that was holding onto him twisted into an uncomfortable angle. Quickly, you roll around to make sure he didn’t didn’t get hurt or hit his head against anything.

Miraculously, he seems perfectly fine— as if you had gently lowered him into the bathtub.

You breathe out a heavy sigh; it feels like you just ran a marathon, but you’re not quite done yet. As much as you’d like to leave it where it is, you pull yourself up to retrieve your father’s longboard from outside. Leaving it could possibly lead to questions from the neighbors and the last thing you want to deal with is gossiping aunties.

Especially with a merman under your roof.

You drag yourself back to the bathroom after you’ve put the longboard away and he’s still asleep, grimacing a little, but still asleep. It’s absolutely wild to you that he hasn’t woken up at all. You wonder if you should fill the tub with some water. Would that make him more comfortable?

You reach over and start the faucet, making sure to lower the temperature. As the tub fills itself, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you, and you slump down next to the tub. Carrying the merman home really, really took a toll on you. Your eyelids feel heavy and you think it should be fine to close them.

Just for a minute or two.

It feels like the second your eyes flutter shut, they pop open again, your whole body awakening with a start. Your thoughts are all jumbled up. Why are you in the bathroom? Did you actually fall asleep here? Wasn’t the water running? Thank god your parents bought one of those super fancy bathtubs that regulates the amount of water in the tub. Surely the merman wouldn’t mind if the water overflowed but—

Right. The merman!

You sit up straight and turn your head toward the merman and sure enough he is still there. He wasn’t just some crazy dream you concocted; he’s real and, more than that, he’s awake.

He watches you, his lips curved up into an amused smile that reaches his eyes— bluer than the sunshine on the sea. Your heart hammers wildly in the cage of your chest as you rediscover, all over again, how supernaturally stunning this being you’ve brought into your house is. He tilts his head, his grin widening almost impossibly as he speaks, his voice a melodic timbre that you would almost swear resonates with your very soul.

“Well, good morning.”

next chapter  →

[suddencolds]

Small Price to Pay | [1/1]

you know all those posts about making out with someone with a cold and the associated consequences? This is that in fic form, ~8.8k words. I'm embarrassing myself typing this, so here it is.

This is an OC fic ft. Vincent and Yves - you can read more of these two here! :)

Summary:

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest. Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

Yves has a birthday party to attend and a fake relationship to prove. Vincent is nothing if not adaptable. (ft. fake dating, an argument, contagion)

—

Here’s the problem:

Francesca throws a party.

It’s a birthday party, strictly speaking, but functionally it’s more of a college reunion—Francesca invites everyone from their year who rowed crew, which means that one: Yves will be surrounded by some of his best friends from college, and two: Erika will be there.

He thinks up an entire contingency plan—if Vincent can’t make it that weekend, for one reason or another, Yves will show up, hand Francesca his gift, spend the rest of the hour avoiding Erika and Brendon, and leave early, citing some excuse or other. It’s not that he doesn’t think he could handle talking to Erika—it’s just seeing her feels like reopening a wound. A part of him is scared that he’ll see her, and feel the loss intensely all over again—or, worse, he’ll get ideas about forgiving her, about letting her into his life again, about accepting her explanations.

And Brendon, too—seeing Erika means seeing Brendon, most likely, and Yves doesn’t want to justify himself to him any more than he already has. 

The point is: the less of the both of them that he has to deal with, the better.

When he asks Vincent a week before the event, though, Vincent’s response is immediate.

V: You can fill me in on the details later. I’ll be there.

It’s a little strange, he thinks, that Vincent always agrees so readily. Vincent isn’t a fan of parties—he’d been clear about that. He doesn’t seem interested in talking much about himself, either—he’s just the kind of person, Yves is realizing, who likes to keep his personal details close unless they offer some sort of utility.

Perhaps there’s something else that Vincent is getting out of this, then.

But when Yves asks, he’s met with the same cryptic answer:

“I don’t mind it,” Vincent says. “And you have something you want to prove to your ex. Ultimately, it’s a net positive.”

“While that’s technically true,” Yves says, “this seems like an unfair arrangement. I mean, you’re only doing this because I dragged you into it.”

“If I didn’t want to be dragged into it,” Vincent says, “I would say so.” as if it’s really that simple.

It can’t be that simple, Yves thinks—there must be more to his reasoning that he’s omitting—but he doesn’t press. Vincent is right. Vincent is the kind of person who knows precisely what he wants. If he really had a problem with this arrangement, he would’ve said so.

And, besides—a little selfishly, perhaps—Yves has started looking forward to their outings as of late.

—

Nevertheless, he doesn’t think about the party again until the Friday before it, when Vincent shows up at his desk.

“Do you have a moment?” he says.

“Yes,” Yves says, saving the spreadsheet he’s been working on and shutting his laptop. “What’s up?”

When he looks up, Vincent looks a little tired, though that’s not unusual—it’s been a long week, and busy season always means long hours and little sleep. 

“We can talk later if you’re busy,” Vincent says.

“I’m very free,” Yves says. He’s decisively not—and he’s sure that Vincent knows this, too, so whatever Vincent is approaching him with now must be important. 

“Regarding Francesca’s party tomorrow,” Vincent starts. He looks a little sheepish—as if he doesn’t quite want to be the deliverer of bad news. “I can still go. But I’m…”

“If something came up,” Yves says immediately, “you don’t have to come.” “It’s not that,” Vincent says.

“Or even if nothing’s come up,” Yves backtracks, “and you’re just not feeling it anymore? Also totally fine. Seriously. I can always just go by myself.”

Vincent seems to consider this. Yves is starting to get worried that something might actually be very wrong—something that Vincent is hesitant to even bring up—when Vincent takes a generous step backwards, raising his elbow to his face as his eyes squeeze shut.

“hhih’nGKTsHuhh-!”

The sneeze sounds harsh, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve; it tears through him with little warning, loud enough to echo slightly in the confines of the office space.

That’s when it all clicks into place: the tiredness. The slight off-ness to his complexion, the tension to the way he’s holding himself, the fact that Yves hasn’t caught him in the break room at all over the past couple days. The fact that he’s currently standing so far away from Yves’s desk.

“You’re ill,” Yves says, comprehending.

“Yes,” Vincent says. His voice sounds a little off, too, now that Yves knows what to look for; it has that quality it often takes on after a long day of discussions with clients—not quite hoarse, but getting there. “I’m positive it’s just a cold. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Don’t worry about it at all, seriously,” Yves says. He feels guilty, suddenly—here he is, asking Vincent to spend his already-limited free time at a party, when Vincent probably has a high volume of important clients—and a burgeoning head cold—to deal with. “If you want to take a rain check, you should. I’m sure this week has already been rough for you as it is.”

“When is the next time you’ll be going to an event where Erika’s going to be there?”

That question makes him pause. “I don’t know. In another month, or so, if I had to guess?”

“So this event is important,” Vincent says, sniffling. It’s the kind of light, liquid sniffle that implies that whatever he’s caught, he’s just at the start of it. “In that case, I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Yves says. “That’s not what I—your health is more important than any event. You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I feel fine,” Vincent says. “No headache, no fever. It’s just a slight cold. I will be fine tomorrow if I make it a point to sleep early.” he sniffles again, his expression growing hazy for a brief moment before he blinks, rubbing his nose on one knuckle. “I just wanted to make sure you were fine with it.”

“I am completely fine with it,” Yves says, reaching for the box of tissues that’s perched on his desk. He holds it out. “I just feel bad about making you go if you’re sick.”

Vincent takes a handful of tissues out of the box, brings them up to cover his nose, just in time for—

“hh- hH’nGKT-! snf-! hH-Hhih… hh’hiHhh’iiZSCHHh-uhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis, pushing the entire tissue box towards him. “Times two. Seriously. I think you could use the weekend off—you know, to catch up on sleep.”

“Assuming that things haven’t changed from the event details you forwarded me, the party will be in the evening,” Vincent says, taking the tissue box from him, a little hesitantly, and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll have plenty of time to sleep in.”

Yves opens his mouth to protest.

Vincent says, “I’m fine. I’ll call a rain check if I wake up with a fever.” He turns on his heels. “Otherwise, see you tomorrow.” 

—

Vincent, as Yves is coming to realize, is very good at appearing presentable, even when he’s under the weather.

“You made it,” he says. This time, they’d driven here separately. Yves had thought, initially, that it’d be easier to just drive Vincent places, so that the only thing he’d had to account for was his actual presence—but Francesca lives between them. I don’t mind driving, Vincent had said. You’d be going out of your way to pick me up, but he’d coordinated a spot a couple blocks down to meet up, so that it would look like they’d come together.

It’s cold outside still—it’s the sort of indecisive weather that seems to periodically hint at spring: a cold front, then a few warm days when all the ice thaws, a few flowers lining the grass along the road where the snow’s melted, and then another snowstorm. It’s easy enough, then, to chalk up the slight redness of his cheeks, the redness at the tip of his nose, as another effect of the not-quite-spring weather.

Yves is carrying his present for Francesca under one arm—a hardcover book—a sequel to one she’d read last year and gushed to him about liking; a couple fridge magnets, which she likes to collect; film for the polaroid camera her sister got her last year; and a letter, all wrapped up in a brown paper parcel. 

It’s nice to have an excuse to see everyone again, especially some of the members from crew whom he’s not close enough to invite to parties personally, that he knows Francesca was closer to. 

“It was a pain to find parking,” Vincent says. He’s wearing a red scarf today, and a white overcoat with black buttons and a sharply cut collar. Personally, Yves thinks it’s unfair that someone can be down with an irritating head cold and still look so good.

“No kidding,” Yves says. “You would’ve thought there’d be more than one tiny parking lot for all those shops.”

Yves asks how he is (fine, Vincent says—perfectly capable of spending a few hours at a party. Yves says, I feel like you would say that even if you were like, dead on your feet with a high fever, to which Vincent laughs, but doesn’t explicitly deny.)

Yves supposes he isn’t one to talk—he’d showed up to a crew event, near the end of the season, with the flu, just because it had been their then-captain’s last big event, and he’d been planning to give him a farewell speech. The speech had gone fine—and so had the first few hours—but then all his symptoms had hit at once—fever chills, exhaustion, a pounding headache, the likes—and Francesca and Erika had practically had to drag him home.

But that had been an important event—a once in a lifetime thing—and he’d drafted that speech for two weeks. This is so much less high-stakes. 

“I prombise I’m fine,” Vincent tells him, lifting up the side of his scarf to muffle a cough into it. “It’s just all the - hHIh-! all the annoyidg symptoms. I dod’t - snf-! - feel any worse than I did yesterday.” “Any worse?” Yves says. “Does that mean you were already feeling pretty badly off yesterday?”

“I barely even feel udwell at all,” Vincent says. “It’s just— I keep havidg to— hHih-! hihH’IIITshHHh-uuH!”

He sniffles, raising a sleeve to his face to cover the next, resounding, 

“hHih’iITTSshh’Uhh! snf-!” He buries his face deeper into his sleeve, his shoulders trembling with another gasp. “Hhih…. HIih’nNGKT—SHhuh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, laughing. “Okay. Point taken.”

Vincent lowers his arm slowly with a curt sniffle. “Are Erika and Francesca close?”

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I think they still keep in touch pretty frequently.” it’s one of the reasons why he hasn’t told Francesca—or anyone else in the friend group—about the specifics of their breakup.

It feels wrong, somehow, to paint her in a bad light, to give people reason to take sides, when it’s always been all of them together as a group. 5am practice was a hell of a bonding experience, she was part of all of that, too. He has no right to take that from her. 

“How about Brendon?”

“Brendon’s sort of an odd one out,” Yves says. “I don’t think most of us had met him until he started dating Erika during our senior year. He usually hangs out with a different crowd, so he’s only really around when Erika is.”

Perhaps that’s better, too—more merciful—that when Erika had left him for someone new, it hadn’t been one of the people he knew and deeply trusted. If Brendon had been there too, at all those 5am practices, at all those oddly timed meetings—if Yves had had that much time to look back on, to wonder when Erika’s feelings for Brendon had materialized, to watch her fall for him firsthand, to look back and know that he was losing her…

It’s better, this way, he thinks, that at least he can look back on his time rowing crew as he’d always wanted to—not like the way he feels when he looks at Erika: heartbroken, and a little betrayed.

“I guess I’m in that positiod now,” Vincent says.

“In the sense that you didn’t meet everyone through crew?”

“In the sedse that I’m an outsider.”

Yves considers this. “My friends really like you, though,” he says. “I don’t think they think of you that way.” It’s a short walk to Francesca’s doorstep. Vincent really does seem to be okay, Yves notes—aside from the frequent sniffling, and the sneezes he turns away to direct into his sleeve, he isn’t shivering under his coat, and he doesn’t look more tired than usual.

Despite everything, Yves finds himself feeling cautiously hopeful. Something about Vincent’s presence has that effect on him. Vincent is always so sure of himself, even in situations Yves thinks he can’t possibly be certain will go well.

It makes Yves want to have faith in this too. Yves will see Francesca and his friends from crew, and he won’t have to say anything to Erika and Brendon, his friends will like Vincent very much, and everything will be just fine.

“Wait,” Vincent says, right after Francesca’s let them in through the apartment buzzer. “We should look like we actually like each other.” He holds his hand out, expectant.

“Good point.” Yves takes it. Vincent’s hand is warm, and a little calloused—when Yves tugs his hand a little closer, Vincent’s fingers interlace nicely with his.

“For the record, I do like you,” he adds.

Vincent laughs. “You kdow what I meant.”

—

It’s almost a relief, seeing everyone again. Yves used to feel a little apprehensive about reunions—around the possibility for the people that he’d known and loved to have changed past recognition, to have internalized everything some way but to come back and see that everyone’s moved on in their own ways, grown a little more into themselves—and a little further from him—than he remembers them to be. 

But when he sees Francesca, she still greets him with the same hug — one arm looped around his shoulders, for a firm squeeze. He hands her her gift, and wishes her a happy birthday, and she laughs and says the only good part about getting old is having an excuse to have everyone back in her living room.

“And Vincent’s here too,” Francesca says, turning to Vincent, who—after looking caught off guard for a second—smiles back at her. “I’m so glad you were able to come!”

“It’s good to see you agaid,” Vincent says. “And happy birthday. You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you!” she says, beaming. She’s wearing a cocktail party dress which slips elegantly over her still-bare shoulders. “I needed to pick something out for the occasion. I swear, these days, half my closet is just business formal attire. It’s depressing.”

“If that mbeans that the other half of your closet is filled out with idteresting clothes,” Vincent says, with a quiet sniffle, “you’re doing a lot better than I am.” 

Francesca laughs. “It’s just for my sanity,” she says. “Can’t let the clients dictate everything I wear.”

“It’s ndice that you’re celebrating your birthday, though,” Vincent says. He lifts a hand to rub his slightly-reddening nose with one knuckle. “My coworkers are always sayidg that they’re too old to want to ackdowledge it anymore.”

“It definitely feels that way sometimes,” Francesca says. “But it’s a good excuse to have everyone here, while we still can. Speaking of which—Yves is the worst at planning things for himself, which is ironic, because he’s always the one planning things for everyone else.”

“That is not true,” Yves says.

Francesca gives him a pointed look. “Last year, you were practically banking on having everyone forget your birthday.”

That is an exaggeration. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t let that happen, even if I wanted it to,” Yves says.

“You’re damn right.”

“The ndext time you’re planning a birthday for him,” Vincent says, clearing his throat with a quiet cough, “I’ll pitch in.”

Francesca brightens, at this. “Finally another soldier on the right side of the war,” she says. “You can definitely be part of the secret planning council.”

“Thadk god,” Vincent says, playing along. “I was starting to thidk I was going to have to do it all alone.”

“It’s not a secret if I’m right here,” Yves says. Francesca ignores him in favor of having Vincent type his number into her phone.

—

Halfway through the evening, Vincent disappears into the kitchen for a moment. When he comes back, it’s with two drinks in hand—canned cocktails, Yves realizes, judging by the cans. He hands one over to Yves.

“I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” Yves says to him. “Even at happy hours.”

“I don’t drink very often,” Vincent says.

“Does this mean that I get to see you tipsy? I’m sure our coworkers will be jealous.” 

“If you’re expecting my personality to change,” Vincent says, “you will be disappointed.” he says it with such certainty that Yves pays closer attention to him after that. 

Vincent does hold his alcohol well, as it turns out, with the exception of the slight flush to his cheeks a few drinks later—though even then, Yves can’t be entirely sure it can’t be entirely attributed to his cold. He listens intently as Yves talks to Diane—who’s a couple years younger than Yves—about how Crew has been ever since Yves graduated (mostly the same; the new underclassmen are good at showing up to practices on time, but that’s partially because their captain this year is a little intimidating). He gives several of the crew members a candid summary of his relationship with Yves, when asked. He tells Marin how they first met and he tells Kenneth what it’s like keeping their relationship secret at work and he laughs—a little sheepishly—when Sasha says they make a cute couple. If lying so openly is difficult for him, it doesn’t show.

If there’s anything that’s off, it’s subtle. It takes some time for Yves to notice—

The next time Vincent sneezes, his breath hitches with a sharp, desperate, — “hHhiH—!” Then he turns away, craning his neck over his shoulder for an uncovered, “HIiiIKTshH-uh-!”

He blinks in the wake of it, as if a little dazed, before he seems to straighten, lifting a hand to wipe his nose on one knuckle. It’s not stifled, as it usually is, nor is it neatly pinched off into his fingers, which is unexpected.

It’s as if the sneeze has fully caught him off guard—as if all the systems he has in place to sneeze as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible are just slightly impaired by the alcohol. Not that it matters much—Francesca has put some music on, and it sits in the background now, a low thrum, all but the percussive elements muted by the chatter of conversation.

“Bless you,” Yves says, leaning over to grab a cocktail napkin from one of the neighboring tables. He hands it to Vincent, who blows his nose and emerges with a small cough. “How’s the cold?” 

“Fide,” Vincent says, with a sniffle. “Ndo worse than before.”

“Are you just saying that to get me to drop the subject?”

“I’m sayidg it because I actually mean it. It’s a very tolerable cold.”

Yves laughs, and reaches for his drink. He’s about to take a sip when he feels Vincent’s fingers close around his wrist

 It’s only a brief moment of contact, but the warmth it leaves around his wrist stays, even when Vincent lets go.

“Sorry,” Vincent says, a little panicked. He withdraws his hand. “That’s mine.”

“What?”

“The cocktail.”

“Oh.” Yves looks down to the can in his hands. He supposes Vincent might be right—they’ve both had a few drinks, so he’d lost track awhile ago. A lot of the canned cocktails taste roughly the same to him, anyways. “Is it? I can get you another one if you want.”

“No,” Vincent says. “I drank from it.” As if that explains everything. And then—a little quieter, as if he’s embarrassed to say it: “I don’t wadt you to catch this.”

Truthfully, the possibility hadn’t crossed his mind until Vincent mentioned it. It seems a little endearing that Vincent would be worried about it in the first place—Yves has certainly shared food and drinks with friends who were worse off. “I’m not worried about that,” he says. “It’s just a cold. Didn’t you say it was very tolerable?”

“It’s still…” Vincent trails off, averting his glance with a sniffle. “...an annoyance.” 

He looks like he’s about to say more when his expression goes distant, his eyebrows furrowing.

“HHih’IIIzSCH-uhh!”  It sounds so thoroughly unsatisfying, half-shielded by a hand raised a few moments too late. “hh-HIh-! Hh…” He pauses, his eyes watering, his breath still wavering, and—after a few seconds of nothing—sniffles; a forceful, liquid sniffle that practically emanates frustration. “hIiIIh’kSHhhhh! snf-!”

“Bless you!”

Vincent emerges, teary-eyed, still sniffling. “Case in point,” he says. 

—

He doesn’t see Erika when she gets there. It isn’t until she passes him in the living room, halfway in a conversation, that she makes her presence known to him.

“Hi Yves,” she says, and he looks up. Today she’s wearing a pink dress which cuts off at her knees—a strapless dress, save for a pink rose over her left shoulder which blooms into a sleeve. She is every inch as beautiful as she always is.

He smiles at her, cordial, tight-lipped. “You made it,” he says. She looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to say more, and he realizes—with a flash of panic—that he doesn’t know what more to say to her. He hasn’t kept up with her over the past few months. He knows that she’s working as a quantitative analyst, at a company she’d been hired at a couple months after they’d broken up, but he doesn’t know if she likes her work, if she likes her coworkers, if it’s been busy as of late. If she works long hours, if she’s taken up any new projects. “Glad you found time. I assume work’s been keeping you busy,” he says,  

“Are you kidding? It’s Francesca,” Erika says. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

And there it is—that decisiveness. That same resolve that, back then, made everything with her seem so easy. Erika and Francesca have always been close—through college, back when they met during crew, and even after, when all of them had been still settling into their jobs or going off to grad school or moving halfway across the country; when seeing each other no longer meant just a fifteen minute walk across campus. 

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I know.”

They don’t speak, after that. Yves thinks it’s probably for the best—he doesn’t have anything to say to Erika right now. Back then, he could talk to her about anything, even if it was pointless or insignificant or of no real importance, and she’d make the conversation fun. 

These days, he only tells her things on a strict need-to-know basis, and—given that the only times he sees her these days is at events like this—there’s not really all that much to talk about. 

It had been difficult, at first. He’d wanted to share everything with her, still, back when his work schedule had settled enough for him to take long walks downtown, to start to go to concerts and bars again; when he’d redecorated his apartment, when he’d gotten someone to mentor at work, when he’d gotten back into cooking. For some time after the breakup, it still felt instinctual to turn to her, to text her about something interesting that’d happened, to ask her to try out something new that he’d found. 

But he hadn’t. Something about feigning normalcy seemed worse, even then, than accepting that she was really gone.

Perhaps her avoidance of him tonight is merciful. It’s easier, when he’s not thinking about her, to slip into the familiarity of talking to everyone, to enjoy all of it just as himself. 

It’s only when he excuses himself to get another drink that he runs into Brendon.

Yves has always been civil with Brendon. 

Brendon is—well, to say that Brendon isn’t someone he considers a friend is a vast understatement. The less of Brendon Yves sees, the better. Yves avoids him when he can, but he is good at holding up small talk, when it’s necessary, and on most days, Brendon has enough good sense to not start a fight.

Today, it seems, is not one of those days.

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest.

Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

“I guess I’m surprised,” Brendon says. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting it to last.”

“Well, I’m happy to have exceeded your expectations,” Yves says. “Though it doesn’t sound like they were very high.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Brendon says, waving a hand. “It’s just—new relationships can be fairly unreliable. Especially when you’re dating around.”

“Maybe in your experience, that’s the case,” Yves says. “But personally, I tend to date people I can see myself with long term.”

“That’s the thing,” Brendon says. “I’m surprised you can see yourself with him.”

Yves sets the drink he’s holding down and turns to face him properly. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

Brendon scoffs. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that you two are very different people.”

“So people can only date their clones,” Yves says flatly. He’s already tired of this conversation. “My bad. I must’ve missed that rule somewhere in dating 101.”

“Obviously, I don’t mean it to that extent. You’re blowing it out of proportion. I just mean that you can only be so different from someone before you’re incompatible. ”

“I agree,” Yves says. “And I don’t think we’re incompatible.”

“Are you sure?” Brendon crosses his arms. “This isn’t his scene, is it? Cocktail parties? I mean, he’s practically married to his work. Does he even like parties?”

Vincent doesn’t like parties—Brendon is right about that point. But hadn’t Vincent been the one who’d agreed to come here in the first place? To imply that he’s only here because Yves has dragged him along seems somewhat disingenuous.

Yves says, “If Vincent didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here.”

“Sure, but from what I’ve heard from Erika—” Yves doesn’t like this implication that Brendon and Erika talk about them behind their back, but he supposes it’s to be expected. “—he’s not exactly the type of person you’ve tended to go for in the past.”

That sounds awfully like an accusation.

“What exactly are you getting at, here?”

“I’m saying that it sort of looks like you just picked the most convenient rebound you could find,” Brendon says, quiet. “But usually people are honest with themselves when that’s the case.”

That startles a short, indignant laugh out of Yves. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Do you really not think that’s the case? Wouldn’t you say you’d usually go for someone more personable?”

“Personable?” Yves repeats. “Personable? Don’t make me laugh. Do you know how many clients I’ve seen Vincent talk down to a pleasant resolution because he’s so good at negotiating? Do you know how many conferences I’ve been in where Vincent is the one people come to after to privately compliment, because he’s so good at knowing how to talk to people?” he thinks to Joel’s housewarming party—to how compellingly Vincent had lied for him, then; to how good he had been at conjuring up a sense of history between them, of warmth. “His ability to answer difficult questions on the spot, with virtually no preparation at all, is something I can’t even begin to comprehend.”

He’s not sure why the accusation from Brendon makes him so upset, only that it does. Only that he wants to do nothing but tell Brendon just how wrong he is. “If you’re trying to imply that I’m settling for him, don’t patronize me,” he says. “Vincent is one of the smartest and most thoughtful people I know. Do you seriously believe I’d be dissatisfied with someone who holds himself to such a high standard?”

“I’m happier than I’ve been in months,” he says, resolute. “Because of him.”

Through the adrenaline, Yves realizes, faintly, that he hasn’t lied about any of it. He certainly could have—after all, Brendon would be none the wiser—but everything he’s said about Vincent is something he really, genuinely believes.

“Ah,” Brendon says, knowingly, as if he has it all figured out. “I got it wrong. This whole time I thought you were the one that felt lukewarm about him. But it’s the other way around, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so sure he’s the one that you’re willing to overlook all of your obvious differences,” Brendon says. “Have you ever stopped to consider whether he feels the same way?”

“Presumably, he does,” Yves says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in a relationship.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Brendon says, as if Yves should already know this from past experience, which—if Yves is being really honest—makes him want to punch him.

Instead, he takes in a deep breath, schools his expression into a smile. “Usually, people in relationships aren’t still looking for other options.”

“Yes,” Brendon says. “Unless they’re unhappy.”

“Yves!” 

When Yves turns to look, Vincent is standing in the doorway. How long has he been here? Just how much of the conversation has he overheard?

“Sorry for the wait,” Yves says sheepishly. “I was getting us drinks.” Evidently, he’s been away long enough for Vincent to come check up on him, so he’s already spent unreasonably long getting drinks, and now he doesn’t even have the drinks to show for it. “Or, I guess I got a little sidetracked, but I swear that drinks are on the w—”

Vincent leans in, unprompted, and kisses him. 

Yves’s brain grinds to a complete halt.

It’s only a moment later that Vincent pulls away, but the decisiveness with which he’s carried it out, the broad confidence on his face as he smiles, unwavering, is—

Fuck.

“Oh,” Yves all but stammers. His face is most certainly red right now, and he can’t even blame it on the alcohol. “Um. Did you need anything?”

“No,” Vincent says. There’s something telling to his expression, some sort of quiet acknowledgement. “Just wanted to see what was takidg you so long.”

Suddenly, it makes sense.

Vincent must have heard. Everything Brendon said—or at least, the last part of it; the implication that Vincent isn’t as invested in this relationship as Yves is; the implication that their attraction towards each other is somehow one-sided. Vincent is doing this to cover for him, because he wants to make it excruciatingly obvious that Brendon is wrong.

The fact that he would go to such lengths to make a point makes something settle in Yves’s chest.

“It’s actually good that you showed up,” he says, playing along. “I don’t know what kind of drink you want. I was just going to get you something generic.”

He heads over to the ice box on the other side of the kitchen, and Vincent follows.

They’re far enough that they’re separated from Brendon by the granite island—and, beyond that, the cushioned high stools lined up next to it, but not so far that Brendon can’t still see them. 

So he certainly can see, Yves thinks, this:

Yves leans in, reaching up a hand to cup Vincent’s jaw, and closes the distance between them.

It’s nothing like the kiss at the New Year’s party.

That one had been all nerves—brief, impulsive, all adrenaline. This kiss is much more involved—Yves presses in closer, so close that he can feel the heat radiating from Vincent’s skin, so close that he can smell the faint, not unpleasant smell of laundry detergent on Vincent’s shirt collar. So close that he can feel the breath that Vincent exhales, warm on his cheek; can feel the softness of Vincent’s hair as he shifts. He feels Vincent’s hand settle on his chest, feels his fingers curl inwards to rest on the fabric of his shirt, and—

On the other side of the kitchen, Brendon is watching, and Vincent is here—here, present, in the flesh, looking as put together as always, looking like someone out of a goddamn magazine—so Yves kisses him like he’s used to kissing—greedily, as if he’s been wanting this for ages. It’s been awhile since he’s kissed someone like this. Back then, there was university—the people at parties who he’d met and kissed out of momentary attraction, or out of alcohol-induced courage—though of course back then, neither party had harbored any delusions about how impermanent that connection was, or how little it meant. And then there was Erika, who, for the longest time, he thought was going to be the last person he’d ever kiss like this.

For months after they’d broken up, he hadn’t looked for anything. It felt wrong to subject others—even strangers, to which he had no allegiance—to the messy remnants of his feelings, to attempt to get into something he knew could only be half-hearted, at best, when there was a person in his mind who lingered so sharply.

But Vincent crowds up every corner of his mind, as if to say, pay attention, and Yves finds that for once, he’s not thinking about Erika at all.

When he feels the small hitch in Vincent’s breath, he thinks nothing of it.

Except, then—abruptly, and with barely any warning—Vincent is wrenching away, craning his head over Yves’s shoulder to let out a sudden, uncovered—

“hh-hIIIH’hH-IIKTshHuh!”

Their proximity to each other means he feels the way Vincent’s body jerks forward under his hands, his chest tensing. For a moment after, the rigidness of his posture doesn’t dissipate, tension still strung through the line of his shoulders.

“Bless you,” Yves says, surprised.

Then Vincent curses under his breath, drawing away with a sniffle. “I’mb sorry,” he says, sounding really, honestly panicked—a reaction which Yves finds both disproportionate to the situation and a little endearing. “That was— sorry, I should’ve—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yves says, with a laugh; “I honestly couldn’t care less.” Impulsively—and maybe to prove just how little it bothers him—he leans back in.

Vincent is less hesitant, this time around, when it seems to register to him that Yves really doesn’t mind. He’s a surprisingly good kisser—Yves probably isn’t the first person he’s kissed, and he probably won’t be the last, but the second Vincent’s mouth works around his, Yves feels himself nearly go weak in the knees.

Fuck. Yves can’t say he expected to spend this evening making out with his very attractive coworker-slash-fake-boyfriend, but at the same time, he isn’t complaining. Yves thinks he could do this for hours, given the chance. He kisses Vincent as if to say, thank you—for the New Year’s party, for going along with this, for lying on my behalf—and Vincent kisses him back as if he wants this just as much.

It registers to him, faintly—as Vincent pulls away with a sharp gasp before he pitches forward, smothering another abrupt, wrenching sneeze into the palm of his hand—that he’s probably dooming himself to Vincent’s cold ten times over. But it occurs to him, too, that if he were really dating Vincent—if, after the party, they’d head back to Vincent’s place together; if they were really close enough to share car rides and food and drinks on the regular, to see each other frequently both in the office and outside of it—he would’ve almost certainly caught this anyways.

Something about the intimacy of it, the false closeness it seems to imply, is a little intoxicating. 

When he finally pulls away, Vincent is breathing a little heavily, his glasses askew, his hair slightly unkempt from where Yves had—mid-kiss—run his fingers through it. Yves looks over his shoulder to see that Brendon has, at some point over the last few minutes, slipped off. Presumably, he’s gotten the point, then.

It’s a relief. Yves is glad to not have to talk with him for any longer than he has to. 

“God,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Where did you learn to kiss like that, anyways?”

Vincent smiles. “I’ve had some practice,” he says, which Yves thinks must be a massive understatement. “Do you think it was convincidg?”

“I don’t know what kinds of standards Brendon has,” Yves says, lowering his voice so that he’s certain no one outside of the kitchen will be able to hear. “But I’d definitely be convinced.”

“He seems strangely idvested in our relationship,” Vincent says.

Yves sighs. “I think he was just trying to make trouble. How much of our conversation did you hear?”

“Just the tail end of it,” Vincent says. “I—”

His gaze goes distant, which is the only warning Yves gets before he’s turning away, steepling his hands over his nose and mouth with a forceful:

“hH-! hhH-hH’iiKTsSHH-uhh! Hh-! Hih… HIIh’IzsSCCHh’hhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent is quiet for a moment, his expression still hazy, the irritation evident on his features, before he’s ducking away again.

“hIiih’GKTTSHh-uhHh!”

The sneeze is loud enough to scrape against his throat. It leaves him coughing a little, his eyes watering.  

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis. He takes a small stack of napkins off of the kitchen counter and hands it over to Vincent, who eyes it for a moment. There’s a slight flush to his complexion—whether it’s from the alcohol, or from embarrassment, or from slight fever, Yves can’t tell.

“I hope you dod’t regret this in a few days,” Vincent says, carefully extricating one napkin from the stack to blow his nose softly into it. “You—” His breath hitches, sharply, and then he’s pitching forward into the handful of napkins with a muffled, “hiiHh’IZSSCHh-uhh!”

He emerges, sniffling, looking a little apologetic. “You’ll almost certaidly catch this.”

Yves laughs. “It’s fine. I know what I signed up for. Besides, I’m glad you stepped in.” He kneels down, at last, to procure two drinks from the long-neglected icebox. “A cold was a small price to pay for getting out of that conversation.”

He hands Vincent a drink. “Can I have a sip of yours? Now that I’ve doomed myself to it already, I suppose you don’t have to try so hard to keep me from catching it.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Vincent says, but he lets Yves try some, nonetheless.

Brendon is suspiciously quiet for the rest of the evening. Neither he nor Erika so much as look Yves’s way, which Yves thinks is better than another confrontation. Vincent looks happy—a little tired, a little tipsy, but happy. At some point into the evening he resorts to crossing his arms as a means to keep warm (“Is it too cold in here?” Francesca asks, passing him from where he’s sitting on the couch, to which Vincent shakes his head quickly, his face flushing red. “I’mb just slightly under the weather,” he says. “The temperature’s perfect.” to this, Francesca brings over a quilt from one of the closets and drapes it over his shoulders. “Your friends are very nice,” Vincent says, pinning the quilt in place with one hand, and Yves laughs).

At some point, Francesca brings out a cake (“earl gray with buttercream,” she says, “Erika and I made a smaller one as a test run last week, and it was a little too dense, so we’ll have to see how this one turned out.” which Yves thinks is very impressive—he’s certainly better than average at cooking, but that expertise does not transfer well to baking—truly, he’s not sure he’d be confident in his ability to pipe frosting in a straight line. When he tells Vincent this, Vincent laughs and says, “I’m sure people would forgive you as long as it tasted good,” to which Yves says, “I think you’re underestimating how bad I am at decorating.”) She’s piped small blue flowers around the periphery of it, and leaves that curl around the edges of the cake. Diane says, “this is way too pretty to eat,” and “are you sure you want us to destroy it,” while Kenneth—their year’s Crew captain—helps Francesca with setting up the candles around the periphery of the cake and lighting them one by one.

Francesca laughs when Erika tells a story about a series of errors pertaining to their last grocery store run and tears up when Marin gives a speech about how Francesca is the main reason she stayed in Crew. After that, everyone sings—for a brief moment, the clamor in the living room becomes strictly unified. Then she blows out all the candles in one go, and everyone claps.

All in all, it’s a good evening.

—

It’s really not a surprise when Yves wakes up a few days later with a sore throat.

It’s not a surprise, either, when his nose starts running shortly after, or when—a couple hours later—a harsh, wrenching sneeze catches him off guard at work.

It’s as if that first sneeze has opened the floodgates. After that, he finds himself muffling sneezes into his elbow, scrambling for tissues from the rapidly depleting stash—a travel sized tissue pack that he keeps in his briefcase, just in case. The persistent tickle that settles in his nose seems impossible to appease, no matter how many times he sneezes, or how diligently he tries to ignore it. Worse, the sneezes are forceful enough to leave his throat feeling tender and painful, and violent enough that he finds himself coughing a little after.

Vincent was right. The cold isn’t particularly miserable—aside from the sore throat, he’s a little tired, but he doesn’t feel strictly worse than usual. It is irritating, though, to deal with—and irritating, too, to be at the office as it settles in.

It’s probably not worth taking a sick day for. It’s more an annoyance than a tangible inconvenience. Besides, he has only a couple days left of work before it’s the weekend, when he can catch up on sleep.

He’s scheduled himself for a morning’s worth of back to back meetings—two meetings with clients, one with a coworker he’s been working with to go over her findings, another status update meeting to review the work they’ve all done over the past few weeks.

Yves is prone to losing his voice when he’s ill. It’s one of his most embarrassing tells—it’d certainly garnered more attention than he’d wanted in college whenever he was under the weather—but in a work setting where his participation in meetings is non-negotiable, with every meeting he takes, he can feel his voice get closer and closer to unusable.

His second meeting ends a few minutes early, which is a relief. But when he heads to the break room to make himself a cup of much-needed tea, he finds that the hot water machine is out of order.

Just his luck.

He pours himself a cup of cold water and looks through some of the storage cabinets for tissues, though he has no luck with that, either.

The office is always turned a notch too cool—air conditioned to keep everyone awake in the afternoons—but today, it feels brutally, unnecessarily cold. He really should’ve dressed warmer. Yves heads to the conference room his next meeting is booked in, speaks on the material he’s prepared, and tries his best not to shiver too visibly. His meeting before lunch runs over, too, which is not uncommon, but today it just feels like insult to injury.

All in all, he’s exhausted. He eats a quick lunch in the cafeteria, downs two glasses of water, and goes through an embarrassing number of cafeteria napkins.

“Coming down with something?” Stanley, one of his coworkers, asks him.

Yves smiles at him sheepishly. “I wish it wasd’t so obvious,” he says.

“It’s just the season for it, I think. Vincent was just sick last week.”

“Oh, was he?” Yves says, feigning ignorance. His cold is definitely, most certainly not related to Vincent’s. “I was just goidg to grab a bottle of hand saditizer to keep at my desk,” he says, with a small cough. “I thidk there’s somethidg going around.”

Thankfully, the afternoon is—for the most part—just occupied with work. Still, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to focus on the financial statements in front of him, the slew of emails he has pulled up.

His nose is running fiercely, the trash can at the foot of his desk is close to overflowing, and the stack of napkins he’d taken from the cafeteria—certainly not an ideal solution, but it’s the best one he can come up with at the moment—is almost entirely gone.

He grabs one off the top of the stack—he’s only able to unfold it partially before he’s jerking forward with a wet, spraying, “hhEHh’iiiZZSCHh’EW!” 

Fuck. The napkins, while infinitely better than nothing, are not as soft as tissues would have been. Given the frequency with which he’s been using them, he’s almost positive that his nose is redder than usual.

The next sneeze nearly catches him off guard. He barely has time to lift the napkin up to his face again before his breath hitches again, sharply.

“Hhehh… HEHh—’IIDDSCHhiew! hEHH’iITSSHh’Yyew!” 

His nose is still running fiercely, and worse, the sneezes are loud enough to scrape against his throat. He thinks his voice is never going to recover if he keeps this up.

From behind him, he hears someone clear their throat.

Yves freezes. His first thought is that he’s probably being disruptive. His second thought is that even if he isn’t, whoever’s behind him must have been waiting to speak to him for some time—he’d just been too caught up with sneezing to realize, which is a little embarrassing.

His third thought is—whoever it is, he wants to face them looking at least marginally presentable. He’s almost certain that right now, he doesn’t.

He blows his nose into the napkins he’s holding, runs a hand through his hair, and pivots around in his office chair with a smile that is admittedly a little forced. “What’s up?”

He expects to see Cara, who he’s been working more with, or perhaps Laurent, who he’s been shadowing. But standing there, looking every inch as formal and as put together as he always does, is Vincent.

For a moment, Vincent just stares at him, as if he’s cataloging Yves’s appearance in silence.

Yves tries not to fidget under his scrutiny. “Did you ndeed anythidg?” 

In lieu of responding, Vincent steps past him to set a box of tissues down at the edge of his desk. 

“I figured you’d want this back,” Vincent says.

It’s the same tissue box he’d handed off to Vincent last week, he realizes, when Vincent was the one who had a use for it. Vincent has taken care to set it down at the same spot where it was initially: at the right edge, next to his monitor.

“Thadk you,” Yves says. “I’ll treasure it.”

“This, too,” Vincent says, setting a mug down in front of him. Whatever’s in there is hot enough to be steaming.

Yves muffles a cough into his hand. “What?”

“Tea,” Vincent says, as if that explains everything. “Chamomile, if it matters. I didn’t know if caffeine would keep you up.”

“Oh.” Yves stares at it. “You got the hot water machide workidg. It was broken this morning. Or maybe I’mb just really bad at using it.”

“Actually, no,” Vincent says. “I got this from the third floor.”

“You walked all the way up here from the third floor?” Yves says, a little surprised.  He’s about to say more, but then—in a progression that he should probably be used to by now—he finds himself succumbing, with little warning, to another sneeze, which he muffles into a perhaps-too-generous handful of tissues. At this rate, he might run out of them, even given Vincent’s generous contribution.

“It was just two flights of stairs,” Vincent says. 

“Still,” Yves says, lowering the tissues from his face so he can take a sip. The thought of Vincent precariously taking the tea up two flights of stairs, careful to not let it spill, just to get it to his desk is so endearing that he finds himself smiling. “Thank you.”

Vincent blinks at him, as if he wasn’t expecting to be thanked. “I don’t think it will keep you from losing your voice,” he says, at last. “But it might help with your sore throat.” 

Yves doesn’t remember mentioning that. “How did you kdow I had a sore throat?”

“How do you think?” Vincent says. “I had the same cold a week ago.”

Even so, the idea that Vincent already probably knows, and knows intimately, how he’s feeling right now, even though Yves hasn’t said anything about it, feels a little incriminating. Yves is under no illusion that his current affliction is subtle, by any means, but at the very least he’d thought that the less visible parts of it—his sore throat, the growing exhaustion, the pressure he feels building at his temples—were things that no one else would have to think about.

“Was it this bad for you?” he says. “I’d feel terrible if I mbade you talk to all my friends if your throat was already— Hh- heHh-! hHEH-heHh’iSSSchh-Iiew!”

It’s a good thing, Yves thinks, hazily, that he’s still holding onto the tissues from earlier. His nose is running again, and the tissues feel traitorously soft as compared to the napkins he’s been using all day.

“No,” Vincent says, frowning. “I think you just wore your voice out at work.”

“That mbight be the case,” Yves says. “I had a lot of meetidgs this morning. Ndow it’s pretty much just heads-down work, thankfully.” He muffles a yawn into one hand. Vincent is probably here for a reason—but Vincent is usually very conscientious about the work he passes onto others, so whatever he needs Yves to do for him, Yves doesn’t expect it should take too long. “Did you ndeed me to look over somethidg?” “I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Vincent says, which is not the answer Yves expects.

Yves blinks at him. “How did you find out I was sick?”

“I heard from Cara.”

“Ah.” He probably owes Cara an apology—he’s sure that she’d probably prefer to work somewhere quiet, and his cold is certainly making that difficult. “Yeah, she would kdow. I’ve been like this all day—well, sidce this mording, I guess.”

“It came on quickly for me, too,” Vincent says. “Can I get you anything?”

“It’s just a cold,” Yves says with a laugh. “I’ll mbanage.” He means for it to be reassuring, but Vincent just frowns, looking off to the side.

He looks… strangely upset, Yves realizes.

“It’s ndot really all that bad,” Yves insists, backtracking. “And the weekend’s coming up soon. I’ll catch up on sleep when I get the chance.” Now is a really inopportune time to have to cough. He raises an elbow to his face to cough as quietly as he can, though the effort only seems to prolong the coughing fit—it leaves him slightly breathless, blinking away the tears that surface in his vision. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Vincent says, quiet.

“For what?”

“For giving you my cold.”

“I dod’t think you can even take credit for that,” Yves says. “I was the one who kissed you.”

Vincent does smile, at that—a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Even so.”

Yves wants to tell him that he would do it again, if he had the chance to. He wants to tell Vincent how easy it had felt to kiss him, how right.

How it felt to forget about Erika, and Brendon, and all of it—even if just for a moment—to feel so perfectly grounded in someone other than himself. To let himself experience the sort of closeness he’s been scared of seeking out, after the breakup, after Erika, in fear that no one would ever fit quite the same. To lean into the warmth of someone who still, even now, continues to be kind to him for reasons he can’t quite rationalize. 

How long has it been since he’s been able to place his trust into someone, blindly, in the way he trusts Vincent to keep up this act of theirs, to lie on his behalf? Vincent is nothing if not competent, but Yves hadn’t expected that competence to extend to this arrangement of theirs. How long has it been since Yves has been able to lean on someone the way he’s leaned on Vincent, to trust someone to meet him where he is?

“For the record, I dod’t regret it,” Yves says. He finds that he really means it.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Batman's Bird Watching Scrapbook

This fic for the @batfam-big-bang was written for @jube-art's AU concept and artwork. The way the fic is done up, it just... it would be way too much work to post all 35 chapters on tumblr, so you get the first one, and the AO3 links. So far, the first 4 parts are up on AO3.

There are two versions of this fic.

The Cool Version, which has all the coding and formatting to make it look like an actual scrapbook. And

The Simplified Version, which does not have all the coding and formatting to make it cleaner and easier to read on mobile.

Chapter 1: Arrival of Haly's Circus in Gotham

The circus wouldn't normally attract my attention, but Alfred had been telling me shortly before, to lighten up and do something fun. I think he could tell that my mission had been taking me to a particularly dark place at that time. I snapped at him when he made the suggestion, and ended up taking it as a way to apologize to him. I had no idea what awaited me. — Bruce W.

Gotham Gazette April 5, 2009 Traveling circus comes to Gotham by Bill Finger

Though known to many as a dreary city, Gotham does have its bright spots. Yesterday afternoon, Haly's International Traveling Circus set down in Amusement Mile and set up their striped big top in the fairgrounds on the waterfront.

Performances begin tomorrow at 6 P.M. and are planned to continue daily until the night of April 18th, so be sure to get your ticket to see the show while they're still in town.

Haly's Circus boasts a wide variety of acts, carnival games, and sideshows including performances of trained, live, wild animals. Among those animals are Zitka the Asian elephant, and lions Gunther and Gurbel who perform alongside Wild Wilhelm the Lion Tamer. Haly's talented horseback dancer Linda Grey does the ballet atop Dungi the Zebra.

I had the privilege of being able to interview Mister Haly before opening day, though he was very busy, and am excited to pass on some of the highlights of what he shared with me.

"We've got all sorts here," he said, "all your standard circus folk, like Sando the strongman, Pedro the dwarf, our knife-thrower Zane and his lovely assistant Zephyr, a fabulously talented group of fire-dancers, as well as the greatest menagerie of clowns you'll find in any traveling circus around the world, if I do say so myself."

I asked him what made his circus special, and Mr. Haley was more than happy to answer me. "Well, sir, our circus may have many acts you've seen before, contortionists, and magicians, and a pair of stunning tattooed ladies, but you've never seen anything like the Flying Graysons," he claimed.

The main event at Haly's Circus, the Flying Graysons, Mary, John, and their son, are widely regarded as among the most skilled acrobats on Earth, with their young son, Richard, holding the high esteem of being the youngest acrobat in history capable of successfully performing a quadruple flip on the trapeze.

As if that weren't impressive enough, the Flying Graysons fearlessly perform all their daring trapeze stunts without a net. You'll definitely want to stay until the end to catch their closing act.

(showtimes for Haly's International Traveling Circus listed on pg. 14)

[softshrimpy]

How To Woo A Hot Principal

Chapter 3: Step 3: The not-date

Summary: Working at the weathervane was exactly what you needed. The routine, the people, your co-worked. It certainly helped that a certain tall, blonde, fucking gorgeous woman happened to frequent the cafe. Now some may call hopelessly flirting with your customers inappropriate behavior.

But truly, when it came it Larissa Weems, who could blame you?

I let them shenan once, now they've shenaned again- also this fic will sort of follow canon, but fuck it where I decide I want to. They joys of being a writer. Also so sorry this update took forever, I was depressed as fuck. Love ya 🦐

Chapter 2

Cross Posted on AO3 Here

HTWAHP Masterlist

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So you’re telling me, the woman of your dreams, the one you’ve been in love with for months-“

“It’s-it’s just a crush let’s not-“

“The very woman you have literally not shut up about since meeting,” James continues, ignoring you, “invites you to accompany her to the harvest festival coming up and you don’t see it as a date?”

“We don’t even know if she likes women let alone me.” You argue.

“Babe you need to open those brilliant little eyes of yours. Of course she’s gay.”

“You don’t know that for sure-“

“No, but I do know no straight woman would experience your sorry ass flirting with them and invite you to the fucking harvest festival.”

You groan, dropping your head against the coffee machine. James had been arguing with you for at least half an hour on whether or not Larissa Weems had invited you on a date when she had asked you to join her at the harvest festival. Now, having only just moved to Jericho you honestly had no idea what the harvest festival even was. Did that stop you from immediately saying yes when she asked though? Absolutely not. You figured any time spent with Larissa, no matter what it was you ended up doing, was time well spent.

However, you did ask James what it was (your first mistake). Which was how you had ended up in this little argument.

“Even if she is gay, she’s so far out of my league.”

“While that may be true-“

“Ouch, thanks for the vote of confidence.” You interrupt, earning you a slap on the arm.

“She seems to want to spend time with you. So you must be doing something right. Anyway, my shift is over but we will talk more about this tomorrow.”

“Oh no, however will I survive without your constant teasing and invasive questions.” You comment.

“I know, you’ll truly suffer. Maybe I’ll ask Galpin to join in on the teasing that way-“

“Don’t involve that poor kid in your devious plans, he need not be corrupted by you.”

He leaves at that with a snort, waving as he goes. Tyler arrives a little while later, giving you a shy wave before getting behind the counter. You decide to take your break, things being a bit quiet at this time of day and let Tyler know before heading into the back.

So all in all, a very normal day so far.

So imagine your surprise when you came back in to find Tyler standing next to Wednesday surrounded by three sad looking pilgrim boys who were laying on the floor groaning in pain. Truly it was almost comical, almost.

“What in the name of fuck happened in here? I was gone for like 10 minutes!” You asked.

“Well-“ Tyler started, only to be interrupted by someone coming through the front door.

And that someone was none other than Sheriff Galpin. You really had nothing against him personally but any and all law enforcement just put you on edge.

“What happened in here?” He asked, eyeing the boys on the ground and then Wednesday.

“They were harassing a customer, she just defended herself,” Tyler replied.

“You mean to tell me this tiny girl beat up these three?”

“I’m sure this was her showing restraint,” you mumble, coming to stand behind the two teens. “Anyway now that that’s all cleared up-“

You’re interrupted by a very troubled and frustrated Larissa stepping through the door. She glances at the boys on the floor, pursing her lips before levelling Wednesday with a look that could make anyone burst into tears.

“Sheriff, apologies. This one…slipped away from me,” she apologizes, “Come on Miss Addams, time to go.” She grits.

“Addams? Is Gomez Addams your father?” The sheriff asks, eyeing Wednesday with what you can only call malice. At Wednesday’s nod, he continues.

“That man should be behind bars. I'm guessing the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I'll have my eye on you.” He warns before storming out.

The four of you look at each other, Larissa’s glare burning holes into Wednesday’s head, while Tyler looks embarrassed and confused.

“Tyler, no offense really, but your dad is a prick.” You say.

“Sorry.” He sighs.

“You two are all right though? None of these prissy pilgrims hurt either of you?” You ask, giving each of them a cursory check.

“Yeah Wednesday handled it, you should’ve seen her-“ Tyler starts but stops himself when he notices the intense glaring match between Larissa and Wednesday.

“Right well, Wednesday,” you start, hoping to ease the tension a bit. “I’m sorry these boys caused trouble for you. But you two probably have to get back to nevermore?”

“Yes. We do. Miss Addams, please go wait in the car. And don’t run off this time or else,” Larissa threatens, earning a huff from the girl as she exits the shop.

“It seems you’ve got an escape artist with you.” You joke.

“I do apologize. Wednesday is- she-“ she sighs rubbing her face.

“Hey it’s okay,” you start grabbing her forearm and squeezing it reassuringly. “Are you alright? Need anything?”

She shakes her head, and you must be imagining things because it almost looks like she’s blushing.

“No, I should get her back before she tries to escape again.”

“She’s probably already hatching plans. But remember I’m always here. Or just a phone call away. However, I don’t have the arm strength for digging graves so...”

She snorts at that, shaking her head and grabbing your hand, giving it a squeeze before leaving. You watch her go, smiling before turning around to see Tyler grinning at you.

“What?”

“So you and Principal Weems huh?” He snorts.

———————————————————————

You had to admit, for a small town, Jericho did know how to hold a pretty cool festival.

You were standing at the entrance to the harvest festival taking in the sight. There were stalls with games set up (no doubt rigged to hell and gone) and various carnival rides set up. You were a little impressed with how well put together the event seemed.

But the time to lose your money at carnival games and eat overpriced food was later. You had to find Larissa.

Honestly, it wasn’t hard, for one she was a walking goddess and tall as fuck so she was easy to spot. And second, the minute you saw Wednesday Addams, you found Larissa close by.

You stopped when you spotted her, standing in her greenish(the lighting wasn’t helping your color analysis) jacket with gloves on. She almost looked out of place; someone who dressed so prim and proper at a little festival with sticky food and children screaming. But she really did always look immaculate.

You decided to stop staring at her like a creep and hurried over to her. She was currently standing at one of the booths, feigning interest in the prizes but actually watching Wednesday. She was so focused on the girl that she didn’t even notice you standing next to her. You stood there for a solid minute before whispering.

“Worried she’ll pull another escape attempt?”

You had expected to scare her, yes, but what you hadn’t anticipated was Larissa letting out the most adorable shriek. She turns to face you, sporting a slight blush and clearing her throat.

“Ahem, sorry about that you uh- you startled me.” She stammers

You giggle, actually giggle, and immediately slap a hand over your mouth, slightly mortified. The two of you stand side by side, embarrassed and blushing like two teenagers. Speaking of teens, not ten seconds later a smirking Wednesday and beaming Enid appear in front of you both.

“Miss Sinclair, Miss Addams,” Larissa starts, regaining her composure, “I hope you two are enjoying yourselves.”

“Oh immensely. Bright lights and laughter are where I feel most at home.” Wednesday deadpans, earning a snort from you.

“I’m super excited. Wednesday said she’d try win me a prize!” Enid squeals.

“Oh? She did?” You ask, grinning. “That’s so nice of you Wednesday.”

You swear you see her cheeks turn pink before she huffs and walks away, mumbling to herself. Enid apologizes before running off, leaving you and Larissa alone again.

“They’re totally in love.” You comment.

“Indeed, I wonder which of them will figure it out first.” Larissa chuckles.

“I’m putting my money on Enid. She seems more in tune with her emotions.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate Miss Addams, she can be quite intuitive when she wants to be.”

“I don’t know, she seems the type to avoid her feelings as long as she can.”

She snorts at that before linking her arm with yours and heading further into the festival. She started telling you about the previous years’ harvest festivals and how she often spent them. You noticed she liked to talk with her hands, well hand in this case.

She soon dragged you over to a table and told you to wait while she went to get what she called “the best by far” hamburgers from a stall nearby. You sat at the table, quickly checking your messages when Wednesday appeared in front of you carrying a rather large stuffed panda.

“Did you win that for Enid?” You asked.

“It’s for Weems. You give it to her.” You said shoving the big guy in your direction.

“Wait what? Why did you- and she’s gone.” You remarked watching her black pigtails disappear in the crowd.

A few moments later Larissa returned with the food. She sat next to you, handing you a burger before speaking.

“You must try these, I look forward to them each year.” She smiled, before noticing the panda. “Where did you get that?”

“Oh uh- well actually it’s for you?” You started, picking up the bear and holding it toward her, “you’d never guess who-“

You had squeezed the lil guy when all of a sudden a voice played from it.

“I love you!”

You froze, staring at the bear and feeling your cheeks heat up. Of all prizes Wednesday could’ve given you, she gave you the one that said that? You wanted to believe she had no idea but a part of you wondered if this wasn’t revenge for your teasing earlier.

“I-I didn’t- I had no idea it would-“ you stammered.

She chuckled, pulling the bear out of your hands and giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“That’s very sweet, thank you darling.”

You’d have to thank Wednesday later (assuming she hadn’t tried to run away again). Larissa put the bear down on the bench before sitting down next to you bumping your shoulder with hers before instructing you to start eating.

The two of you sat and ate, and goddamn she was right the burgers really were delicious. Not that you doubted her. Although the entire experience would’ve been a lot less magical had it not been for Larissa sitting next to you, so close your shoulders were touching as she happily ate her burger and spoke to you between bites.

The two of you then headed back into the festivities. You insisted on trying to win Larissa another stuffed animal (you wanted it to be from you, not from Wednesday, even if the one you ended up winning was a considerably smaller stuffed duck.)

You had to admit, it did feel like a date. You kept trying to stop yourself from thinking like that, Larissa was just being friendly and you hadn’t really had a close friend who was a woman for years so you had no idea if this was just regular friendship or she was actually flirting with you.

But you pushed all those thoughts aside and just enjoyed the time you were spending with her. Well, you were enjoying your time together before a young girl came running up to Larissa, she honestly looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“Principal Weems I- I’m sorry to interrupt but Wednesday said Rowan’s been attacked and-and killed in the woods. I don’t- she said it was some kind of monster? I-“ she stammers, obviously troubled.

“Alright, deep breaths. Okay, there we go. Right. Go find Miss Thornhill and tell her to get her to gather the rest of the students and head back to Nevermore. I’ll call the sheriff and be with you shortly. It’ll be alright Miss Barclay, thank you for coming to me.” She says, ushering the girl away.

Bianca nods before turning on her heel and running off to find the teacher Larissa mentioned. Larissa turns to you, smiling apologetically.

“I’m sorry darling. This is not how I envisioned this evening ending. I need to go but promise me you’ll head straight home? If-if there is any merit to Wednesday’s story I would be beside myself if something were to happen to you.” She murmurs squeezing your hand.

You nod, assuring her you understand and you’ll head home. You urge her to be careful and you’re about to let her leave before you stop her.

“Give me your phone.” You ask, holding out your hand.

“Darling I- what?”

“I’m putting my number in your phone so you can message me when you get back to Nevermore, safe and sound.” You insist.

She looks shocked for a moment, then confused before finally settling on a rather flustered expression before handing you her phone. You hand it back to her after adding yourself as a contact(you saved yourself as ‘Favorite Barista’ which makes her chuckle.) you reiterate that she has to message you when she returns to Nevermore and give her a kiss on the cheek before ushering her away. As soon as her blushing form is out of sight you head back to your car and drive home.

It’s only after you’ve entered your small apartment that your actions register. You are absolutely mortified that you behaved the way you did and can’t help but overthink every action for the next hour or so. You’re wallowing in self-loathing and misery when your phone pings with a new message.

You quickly check who it’s from, noticing the unknown number and hastily open the message.

Hello darling, it’s Larissa. I’m back at Nevermore, safe and sound. There was no sign of Rowan, despite Wednesday’s adamance about what she saw. All this to say, everything is fine.

You sigh, relieved she and the kids are safe. You’re about to send a reply when another message comes through.

And thank you for looking out for me tonight. It’s been a while since anybody has worried for my safety. I appreciate your care.❤️